Madhouse
by jakey121
Summary: "An Arena designed to crack and reshape their minds. Show them that they aren't who they think they are, that they can't escape the Capitol. It's always been about fear. And inside the madhouse, fear is all they'll know." Welcome to the 30th Hunger Games!
1. Fear

**Madhouse.  
The 30th Hunger Games.**

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**Fear.**

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**Prologue Part One – Elora Galavan, Capitol.**

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"_There is no living thing that is not afraid when it faces danger. The true courage is in facing danger when you are afraid." - L. Frank Baum._

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Someone brushes past me the second I bend down to reach the food table. A lemon bar sits on one of the china plates; I spare a second to look either side of me before greedily snatching it up and quickly swallowing it down whole.

I struggle to breathe for a second as another guest almost sends me toppling into the three-tiered cake standing proudly on the middle table. If someone asked me why I continue to throw these parties, honestly, I don't even know at this precise moment. The guests are bothersome to say the least and considering across this very neighbourhood the very sour Head of Muttations is throwing her annual pre-reaping bash, there aren't too many people attending what I've put together.

It's hard to maintain positivity when there are people out to steal my glory. I refuse to bow down to them though, the tradition of throwing these parties has been passed down to me by my late mother and the last thing I plan to do is disappoint her. This celebration is meant to be fun and the fact I'm worrying over something so trivial is not going to do me any good.

With this in mind I turn around and strut across the parlour towards a group of stout looking men all chewing away at my husband's favourite meat dish. The shortest one who happens to also have the largest stomach I've ever seen on a person, notices me as I stand on the outer edge of their gathering.

Eagerly, and with a lot of spit, he shouts my name and claps me on the back. Swallowing down disgust and feeling a red flush creep through my face, I smile with enough enthusiasm to comfort these waddling buffoons. I shake his hand and step forwards, taking my place amongst the group whilst avoiding the fat man whose already clicking away for an Avox to serve him.

"Lovely to see you Elora, smashing do I must say," one of them says, his third chin wobbling as he grasps his stomach in delight. How people from the Capitol allow themselves to get to this state with all the surgeries out there to ensure a healthy appearance I'll never know. Maybe fat is in this year, I hope not. Fat doesn't look good on me.

"Anything less than the best won't do at all will it...?" I feel myself growing embarrassed again as the man laughs loudly, spit flying from his lips.

"Felix is the name."

The other men join in with this show of joviality just as I hear footsteps in the direction of the stairway. None of them seem to notice my disappearance as I turn to leave at the sight of my husband walking towards me. If there was ever a man who could be defined as having every aspect of the perfect specimen, it's my husband. Son of a late Gamemaker, involved secretly with affairs to do with the Games, everything about his profession and history is exciting. Appearance wise, it's hard to find a flaw. Truly, he is a blessing. I won't let him know that though, being who he is there's a certain arrogance such words will only fuel even more.

"Elora," he kisses me on both cheeks and squeezes my shoulder. I feel butterflies in my stomach, the same ones I felt the first time I met him, but I push them back and smile kindly up at him.

"People seem to be enjoying what we've put together."

He nods his head as his eyes scan across the room, they hover once over the fat man from a minute ago and they narrow. I barely notice it but it's there, some sort of anger and confusion appears then disappears the same second. I know best not to bring it up, I don't pretend to understand the politics of the Capitol so such things are better left to my husband. I prefer these sort of get-togethers, the Hunger Games being a main focus in my life.

Thirty years in and we still feel the need for revenge, however most here would probably admit to the fact that it's no longer about vengeance. It's just enjoyable to see District kids kill one another. Although most women don't seem to even understand the horror behind it all, they see it as just another TV drama.

"Jeremiah's wife is still proving to be annoying isn't she?"

I sigh. "Annoying is an understatement. You know I swear she has a party the same night as mine just so she can show me up. I haven't even done anything."

Again his eyes shift to the fat man then focus back on me, a delicate smile lightens his eyes and I sink into his open arms. He soothingly runs a hand up and down my back and I forget about the worries and stresses of everything tonight. In a week's time the reapings begin, I get to gather my friends, bet and have some fun with everything that goes alongside this brutal event. I shouldn't have to worry about what my husband gets up to.

"She's a nuisance according to Kendall, someone told me she might not even be a Gamemaker for that much longer. Come the end of this year you won't have to worry about another party ever again."

This time I allow myself to delve into the dramatics and let out a high pitched laugh. Some people look but I don't even blush at their eyes on me. The only competition I've had in life is from the woman across my road and the fact she might be out of the job... dead even? Well, that puts me right back where I need to be. On top of the social pyramid.

"I knew you'd be happy to hear that. Kendall even showed me the..." he pauses again and I feel a chill rake down my spine. A presence hangs over my shoulder and when I look the large man is there, eyes locked with mine and lips curled up into a smile unlike the childish one from earlier.

"Kendall showed you what, Zabian?"

My husband growls and protectively pulls me behind him. I bite back a shriek and sense all eyes moving on us again. I feel fear sinking in my gut at the sight of these two men staring each other down. Zabian squares his shoulders, nostrils flared as he lets out a quick, sharp laugh.

"That is none of your concern. I suggest you get back to your friends or get out of my house."

The man laughs and before I can stop myself a shiver travels through my legs and I look away for a second. Something isn't right about this man and Zabian knows exactly what it is that's wrong with him.

"Honey... I want him out of-"

"He won't bother us if he knows what's good for him," he interrupts, sparing a glance at me over his shoulder. There's a hint of fear in his eyes, the first signs of terror I've ever seen in him and that makes my legs start to shake faster and harder.

"Just remember what the Games mean for you this year Zabian. We all know Kendall and you could join the women your lovely wife hates so much after the victor has been announced. If it all fails... well..." he shakes his head and walks back over to his friends. They mutter something and then leave like that, not even glancing in our direction.

Nausea sweeps through my body and I almost fall as Zabian turns to face me.

"I don't... what's wrong?"

Zabian tries a strong smile but his eyes betray this false strength.

"Just something to do with work, don't worry."

"I'm not you or him or Kendall, Zabian. I don't know how any of this works. You promised me I wouldn't be dragged into anything."

He puts a finger to my lips and pulls me in for another hug. In a matter of minutes I've gone from disgust to an unsightly guest, to complete paralyzing fear over the same man. Something about this year's Games is linked to my husband, something I need to know but am terrified to find out.

"No matter what happens none of this will come back to you. You're safe from him and the Hunger Games. Don't worry about a thing, this is a happy time, don't let him get to you okay?" he tilts my chin up and stares into my eyes.

I see everything that's the opposite of happiness on his face. A secret is somewhere in that head of his and it's all linked to the one thing I hold dear to me. The Games aren't meant to be something we in the Capitol fear.

And in the space of mere minutes that's all be turned upside down.

"If you can promise me we're safe, I can do that."

He laughs gently and kisses my forehead.

"We are, I promise."

The lie is there, a promise he can't keep. These Games are different, if he won't tell me I'll have to work it out for myself. Nothing will tear apart my world, my life. Not even the Hunger Games.

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**Submissions are open for the restart of Madhouse. Everything you need to know is on my profile including the tribute spots I have taken over from the first version of this story. Please make sure you read everything as a deadline has been included as well. Tributes to be only submitted via PM.**

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**Reviews aren't the first thing I look at when it comes to decisions. Most of all, realism and the tributes themselves all factor into how the Games turn out, however if there ever comes a time when I am conflicted about what to do, I will go back to reviews. If you don't want to review you don't have to, but even a line or two helps to show me you are reading. At the end of the day, why would I keep a tribute from someone who might not even be following the story over someone who's showing me they are still around?**

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**Now that _Fight or Flight_ is nearly over, I have the time to start this again. I'm excited to be using some of the tributes I am keeping from the first version and to see who else I receive. With every chapter structured out and how the layout of this story will be, I am convinced this will work out properly this time. **

**This prologue doesn't have any Arena hints but the title and maybe picture probably give a clue as to what you should expect. **

**Don't worry about the number of forms increasing, if they reach over the number I can receive don't let that put you off. I won't be accepting everyone, make your tribute the best they can be and they stand a greater chance of being accepted. Next chapter will be the second part to the prologue with the tribute list and blog link.**

**Until next time!**


	2. Lies

**Lies.**

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**Prologue Part Two – Zabian Galavan, Capitol.**

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"_A lie can run around the world before the truth can get its boots on." - James Watt._

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The newspaper clippings leave black marks on my fingertips, tracing down to my knuckles. I shove them away with a grunt and stare upwards. A bead of sweat rolls down the back of my neck and I shift uncomfortably, the shackles digging into my wrists as I stare into his beady little eyes.

Whatever happens, I won't show him the satisfaction of breaking me. Even if... if Elora is brought up into this. I've learnt to keep up my resolve, a trick of the trade almost. This... animal won't shatter what I'm holding up for my protection, I won't let him.

"So, the results are pretty much clear," the corner of his mouth twitches and he moves one hand on top of the other. His eyes find mine and I bite back a remark, now's not the time to irritate him further. "The President is happy, more than happy considering these headlines. But I'm not, and when I'm not happy I tend to get a little angry."

My heart pulsates rapidly in my chest, the nerves sinking in my gut as I stare him down. He sniggers and brings the little sheet of paper to his eyes, scanning across text he must have spent hours debating over. Behind his head a picturesque view of the Capitol stretches from one curled back curtain to the next, the sun a red drop in the sky cast behind the skyscrapers we so arrogantly occupy. Right now being in the centre of this city doesn't give me the satisfaction it once did, all I see behind these doors is politics tearing lives and families apart. What started off as fun is nothing more than horror at the ways people live.

I hope for Elora's sake she's spared the graphic details of what it is I have to do. Even if I'm nearing my own end, she doesn't deserve to know. It's not her fault, none of this was.

"What am I going to do with you?" he lengthens out a hiss and sinks into the plush cushions of his armchair. The enjoyment on his face is vile, three chins wobbling under a heavy bristle of a moustache. The days we used to poke fun at him during high school have well and truly come back to bite us in the backside. Revenge they say is sweet, a part of me knows I can't blame him for what he's doing right now. I'd do the same if I was in his shoes. I was a right bastard back in school.

"Let bygones be bygones? You'd like that wouldn't you Zabian, after all if the President is over the moon with joy why shouldn't I? He is my master after all, the man in charge. One might think if I have a problem it's my own fault. It isn't though is it? Oh no it isn't," he grins and stretches forwards, resting his grotesque chin on his fingers.

"The President enjoys his favourites winning, that's why they're called favourites," he hisses once more. "When a favourite is on the verge of dying it is our job to help them, or at least stall their death so the President can enjoy them for a little longer. What he doesn't know is that a certain... someone, seems to be against this notion."

"Well that certain someone should be very mad with themselves shouldn't they Rodolphus?"

He puckers his lips and for a second I see something sinister flash in those blue eyes of his, then he leans back and chuckles. The ceiling echoes it back to him and he nods his head fervently. "They should indeed, Zabian, they should indeed."

I know what he's hinting at. I'm well aware of the suspicions within the Gamemaker circle, a certain someone seems to be demonstrating bias but in completely the wrong direction. There's no such thing as bias in the eyes of the Capitolites, sitting below this very window with their heads in the clouds. For them it's about what the tributes are doing rather than what we are doing. But it isn't. A favourite is a favourite for a reason and it's why careers win so very often. Those wonderful brutes the ladies swoon over and every gentleman is envious of.

"You know you have the wrong man."

"Ah but do I? Do I really? Last year was perfect with Shine taking the crown but that finale was less than satisfactory for me. The President and everyone else was perfectly fine but I knew that whoever was controlling those mutts was trying to draw them to our precious victor rather than that rather drab girl from Ten. It seemed, from my perspective, that they wanted her to win rather than our wonderful Shine."

My lungs start to ache as I hold my breath, staring into his accusing eyes as his lips narrow, cheeks glow red and fingers dig into the grooves on his desk. I didn't... I would never do something like that, why risk my neck for such a stupid thing? The victor never matters to me anyway, it's always the violence that gets me going not whoever comes out as the survivor. Hope is meant to be essential for Panem's structure but I'd rather no victor at all, I rarely see the point in such an icon. There's little difference between idolising such a victor and following them into revolution. A particularly... difficult victor could be what lights the fire. None of us want that.

"It's why I've been on your back for quite some time now. I didn't want to make it too obvious but I found out soon enough, you were the one secretly whispering orders into the lovely Head of Muttations' ear. The lady your wife so despises for her excellent parties. It's why she's out of the job this year no matter what happens, and why I said you would be following very shortly. I don't care if the President is completely unaware of what went on. I'm not. I understand what you did and what you're trying to do and I will not allow someone to get in the way of the President's wishes. A favourite doesn't have to win but when that favourite is in the finale... they do."

I open my mouth to try and say something. In the face of a death threat I thought I'd be more responsive, at least kick up a bit of a fight. Cowardice isn't something I'm known for. But right now there's nothing except the fear that pumps my heart faster, worry that fuels the burning in my chest and the pain that spreads behind my eyes and leads to the back of my head. If he's going to kill me over something less than a rumour, what about Elora?

"I know," he states calmly, happy at the battle my body is raging against. "I know what you're thinking my dear Zabian. Elora. Sweet, pathetic Elora. Don't worry, if I choose to have your head I'd rather I kept hers on. I have a rather interesting fact for you. My divorce is final around the same time the Games end... I'd love a new wife. Good for the reputation I'm sure you're aware of. Elora would be..."

"... don't," I whisper.

"Good day to you Zabian," he presses a button and the shackles round my wrists draw back into the chair. A red ring is all that's left, I pull my sleeves down and stare at him. I so very much want to push him out this window, or at least make his fat disgusting body squirm. I can't though. Not if I want any chance of living, of saving Elora from what this man does to his wives.

Rumours are abundant within this city. My bias towards the underdog being one, the torture of his spouses being another. Elora cannot endure that, death would be easier.

And since that isn't an option for my love, my survival is the only thing left. I plan to keep it. I turn on my heel and strut down the corridor, head held high as I leave through the double doors.

If he wants to play, I'll hold back. None of his allegations have any truth behind them, but a single whisper is enough to bring my life to an untimely end. That's the problem with the very city I live in, it's all about the game behind closed doors. A single word is deadlier than any blade, I know that now. I've known that for a long time. The trouble is finding something even worse, and that's what I must do. Destroy him before he destroys me.

A game within a game. I really hate politics.

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**Tribute List**

**District One:**

Male- Alistair Tempest (_ImmyRose)_

Female- Calliope Cartier (_Cashmere67)_

**District Two:**

Male- Lochlan Clarington (_Anime'sPrincess)_

Female- Saskia deValier (_I'mCrazyAndProudOfIt)_

**District Three:**

Male- Tyndall Martinez (_Chaos In Her Wake)_

Female- Ada Bertrand (_Lupus Overkill)_

**District Four:**

Male- Matteo Dallas (_jessicallons-y)_

Female- Megaera Cassian (_LokiThisIsMadness)_

**District Five:**

Male- Cynder Duke (_nb1998)_

Female- Celene Fontaine (_May38)_

**District Six:**

Male- Ward Bingham (_mangesboy01)_

Female- Tatum Caville (_thgfan9)_

**District Seven:**

Male- Graeden Peltz (_Call Me Fin)_

Female- Tirzah Ovata (_Nrrrd-Grrrl-Meg)_

**District Eight:**

Male- Davin Carrick (_DA Member Hogwarts)_

Female- Kennedy Ames (_District11-Olive)_

**District Nine:**

Male- Elijah Fawkes (_JabberjayHeart)_

Female- Atarah Neve (_Sunlight Comes Creeping In)_

**District Ten:**

Male- Alton Shelding (_Elim9)_

Female- Raelyn Houchens (_QuietConspiracy)_

**District Eleven:**

Male- Sloan Ryker (_Burning Stars)_

Female- Sabrina Calladine (_Cosmoguy)_

**District Twelve:**

Male- Raven Stillman (_Rebirth Of A Demented Kitten)_

Female- Kitty Lynch (_dark clouds on a winter night)_

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**Blog link is on my profile. Check it out to see this year's tributes! If anyone notices any mistakes please let me know via PM and I'll edit it as soon as possible.**

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**Reviews aren't the first thing I look at when it comes to decisions. Most of all, realism and the tributes themselves all factor into how the Games turn out, however if there ever comes a time when I am conflicted about what to do, I will go back to reviews. If you don't want to review you don't have to, but even a line or two helps to show me you are reading. At the end of the day, why would I keep a tribute from someone who might not even be following the story over someone who's showing me they are still around?**

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**I am deeply sorry to anyone that didn't get in. Believe me when I opened submissions I didn't expect to get so many that I'd have to reject tributes that I actually really liked. Don't take it personally but with limited spots already open in the first place, I had to really be strict with who I was accepting. I looked at diversity more than anything amongst the tributes. If yours wasn't accepted feel free to submit it to another SYOT, I have no problem with that.**

**From this chapter onwards there will be a question or two asked, as well as a review of the chapter it would interesting to hear your answers.**

_**From the blog, based on first impressions, who are your favourites and why?**_

**The next chapter will be up hopefully within a week's time. With the epilogue to do for _Fight or Flight _it may be longer but once that is done I have nothing else to get in the way of my commitment to this story.**

**Thank you to everyone that submitted, I'm excited to get this up and running!  
**


	3. Luck

**Luck.**

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"_Destiny is a good thing to accept when it's going your way. When it isn't, don't call it destiny; call it injustice, treachery, or simple bad luck." - Joseph Heller._

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**Tirzah Ovata, District Seven Female.**

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The bark collides with the tips of my fingers and I grasp on as tightly as I can. Digging my feet into the base of the trunk, I ease up it slowly and with precision, timing each and every step as I ascend the spruce. Swirls of green and black trail through the cracks and I smile through every exertion of my muscles, absorbing the chill of the breeze and the soft pattering of a gentle downpour grazing my back.

In my element, here in the trees, I am my own person. A ruler amongst nature. There's nothing I cannot do in my kingdom, everything from the tallest tree to the saplings growing root in the soil, it's all mine. No one can take it from me.

The branches grow thinner as the top peeks out the canopy, I smile and take the last leap upwards, grasping with two hands onto the peak and raising one arm to the sky.

My heart pounds furiously against my ribcage and I savour the rush such an adventure gives me, soaking in the grey clouds shrouding the yellow sun. My eyes take in the view around me, my family's estate perched proudly on the hill, their forest teeming with wildlife stretching acres behind the main part of the District stuck at the bottom. Down there they whisper words about who I am, my family name. Up here though, they can't hurt me, my father can't order me around and my mother can't pull and prod me until I'm the doll she wants me to be.

They tell me to be perfect, so I be the child they want me to be. I won't let them take this freedom though, the one place I thrive and feel at home. Four walls and a bed aren't the comfort I desire, it's this lumbering giant and the countless trees sprouting from the forest floor that give me the feeling of shelter and belonging.

I don't need friends, I never have and never will. Or maybe I do and I'm just being stubborn, at this point in my life I don't even know anymore. It's hard to speak to a child your age when the only day you get to see them is the reaping, home schooling doesn't allow for interaction. Parents like mine block out any hope of finding a companion. It's my life though, I'm past the point of bothering about it.

Despite fighting against the bitterness that floods my system, it find its ground inside and I slowly sink lower and lower, the adventure not quite there anymore. A few splinters pierce the soft points of my fingers but I ignore the pain and land with a gentle thud against the leaves.

With the rain pouring from above, they'll be expecting me right about now. I hear what they say about me, these lonely hours I spend in the trees they cut down for their business, but they can't stop what they can't catch. I make it my priority to spend enough time here so my mind can free itself of the hassle that my family brings me, though I make sure to at least satisfy their wishes occasionally. Today being one: reaping day. The hardest day of the year.

There are only so many disgruntled faces I can take before I begin to feel the pressure overwhelming me, the desire to feel wood round my hands again. The reaping is just a concrete block of child nightmares coming true, the place where two kids are plucked from their lives and forced to face an environment unknown to them. There aren't many things that scare me anymore, but the Capitol does. The Hunger Games do, and I don't like fear. It leaves a terrible sensation in the pit of my stomach, it makes it hard to concentrate.

"It took you long enough," her grating voice attacks my eardrums the second I break through the foliage. My mother stands there, floral gown hitched up and protected under an umbrella Lindy Willow, our Nanny, holds over her head. The red of her cheeks complements the bombardment of lipstick splattered over her mouth. I'd chuckle if I knew there'd be no consequence. Instead I comply and with haste, follow behind her, bowing my head and kicking up gravel as we cross the garden and reach the back door.

"Miss Ovata," Lindy curtsies as I half-heartedly smile her way and step through the open door. Inside it smells of burning, a cake or something in the oven, awaiting the celebrations tonight. There aren't many people who abide by the yearly tradition of a post-reaping party, but my family understand it's good for business. More often than not the Mayor will venture up the hill just to see what my parents have on offer. A Capitolite or two as well might be here, it's a small little party but the amount of money they pay for what my parents have for other, I suppose they don't need large numbers.

"You look dreadful Tirzah, I thought we told you last night not to go loitering about again in those infernal trees. Now we're going to have to scrub you down before we can get you dressed," her eyes flicker down to her watch and a gasp shoots out her lips, making me flinch as she steps forwards. "You really are a nuisance, look at the time!"

If there was ever a place to stand still and not put up a fight, it's when my mother believes we're running late when there is undoubtedly at least two hours to go. She pulls me up a flight of steps, allowing her precious dress to brush the marble flooring as Lindy takes me by the hand, into my bedroom and begins the process of making me the perfect little girl.

I'm to be seen and not heard after all, nothing more, nothing less. The brush snags on my hair as the rain pelts the window and I look through the glass, the forest calling out to me. I wish I could just run away and never look back, I'd rather be there than here.

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**Celene Fontaine, District Five Female.**

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With a final flick of my wrist, the curl of the cat's tail ends in a blaze of beautiful orange. I pull back the brush from the old sheet of cardboard and grin. _Yes, perfect._

I roll my tongue and clap my hands, smiling at the art before me. It may not be perfect in technique, but it's my masterpiece. All of these are, from the tiniest little flower to the beast of a jungle shoved somewhere under my bed. The worst part is hiding them of course, this cat will be no exception.

"Sorry kitty, I don't want you being set on fire," I sigh and take the painting to the other side of my room. It's not fair, hundreds of other kids would function well with my strict family but it's me who has to have them. I love them, of course I do, but when it comes to being me... well, being me just isn't what they want of their daughter.

"Celene! Julius is here!"

My father's deep voice echoes from below, shaking the floorboards and sending a spiral of dust along the wood. I watch it float around for a second before my door flies open revealing my best and only friend Julian, gawking at me.

"Mornin' Jule!"

"Julius," he whispers, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. I giggle and grab his hand, pulling him into my room and forcing him unintentionally to the ground. He lands with a muted thud and I chuckle again. Julius is just a perplexed sort of dude, without really any knowledge of stuff outside science and maths, I enjoy revealing a different perspective on life. Not many people understand a simpler side and it's that which I try to encourage others to explore. Though most of the time I'm so caught up in my own whirlwind of an imagination it's hard to really piece together what they're thinking for themselves.

Whatever, I suppose.

"Your hands are messy," he nods at the orange coating my fingertips. Grinning mischievously, I catch the glint in his eye and before they even have the chance to widen, I launch myself at him and stroke lines of paint all over his face. My stomach hurts, laughter rolling out from my mouth as he struggles to push my body from him. A blush replaces his usual pale cheeks and after settling his bulky glasses on the bridge of his nose, he dabs at his cheek and sighs at the sight of orange.

"Really? Can you not for one day?"

"Orange suits you, you should try it more often," I tease, watching him blush even more. There's something so appealing about his awkwardness that just invokes these kind of reactions. I'm not usually so upfront, I understand some form of boundaries. As long as someone isn't so uptight, I'll give them peace that they rightfully deserve. But with Julius, he seeks me out either way, if he didn't like me he wouldn't be here.

"Secretly you love it."

He chews on his thumbnail in response, not another word to put in. I shrug my shoulders, acknowledging his wishes and slowly I start pacing back and forth. Occasionally I glance back over at my painting and smile to myself, then over at Julius who does nothing but stare at my feet as they kick up dust and wood chips.

He's not like everyone else, but he's not like me either. Julius takes life as it comes, always in the now. Present day life is fun, it's all there is for us really, but there's no harm in considering an outside alternative. A future that maybe... maybe could be better?

People call me idiotic with an imagination to match. Panem is destined for disharmony forever and ever, the Hunger Games continuing for decades after myself and Julius have passed. I don't want to believe that. I can't really.

There's always a time where things have to be taken seriously, but there comes a point where seriousness leads to indolence. If I act like the world I live in isn't harsh, then it makes me believe I'll start to consider that which we live like, how we're forced to mould our choices, is right.

And I can't accept that.

"Mind wandering, Celene?"

I blink a few times and immediately my room comes back to focus. The thin whisker of the kitty sticks out from the corner of my eye and I look fully on at Julius who's ever so slightly grinning.

"Did you want to stay round later? I don't mind if you don't want to. It'd be nice though if you could, reaping day always leave me feeling a little upset," I chirp, probably more enthusiastic than such a question should come out. Julius' grin twitches for a split second before a shift in his head, up and down, makes me laugh out loud again.

"Great, excellent! Are you nervous, I know I sure am."

"Nerves aren't worth it for something out of our control. Try to stay relaxed, it's easier."

I step over to him and fall downwards, landing within an inch of his crossed legs. Julius blushes again, although he wants to shuffle backwards he doesn't, for that I'm grateful.

"Nerves make me feel human Julius, I don't want to act like it's not bothering me. I don't like that."

"Celene, you shout at Peacekeepers, you once even climbed to the top of the bakers and leaped from the roof, barely landing in the pile of leaves. Everything you do, you've never cared. Why should the reaping bother you?"

Because... what if it is me? What if it is...

I couldn't handle that. Julius knows me more than anyone. I'm the girl who smiles and paints, chases people around, back-chats Peacekeepers and does stupid things just because she can. But that's because I'm happy with who I am and what I think about when I'm not going on such adventures, when I do dream of a better place to live.

If I'm reaped... that means I'm sucked straight into the system I'm trying to envisage not existing. That'll just ruin everything, it could change who I am.

I feel the soft tingling of his palm, fingers squeezing my shoulder gently. I look up at him and hold back a tear, instead going to punch him lightly in his own shoulder.

"Come on you, let's get this over with," I laugh, pulling him up with one hand and setting him on his feet.

"You're a good friend Celene, you are."

I stare at him, the sincerity glowing from his face. For once, there's no joke, nothing to bite back with and laugh about. He's my friend, that's more than can be said for anyone else in this District. More than can be said for my own family.

"You are too."

Nothing else needs to be said. With me leading the way, we start forwards, a reaping to go to.

* * *

**Lochlan Clarington, District Two Male****.**

* * *

"Why are you dressed like that?"

My sister shoves her nose in the gap between myself and the mirror, smirking at the reflection that stares back at her. Hanging baggy, but not too baggy, is one of my father's old suits: sophisticated leather shoes, pressed pinstripe trousers and an old ruffled shirt. It looks ridiculous, definitely. But I like ridiculous, it's better than whatever tiny scrap of material my sister shoves herself into every day.

"I don't know," I shrug my shoulders and let out a short laugh. "Leaves an impression, I guess."

"On who?" she arches an eyebrow and snorts, patting out a crease in her own dress.

"Me. I'm impressing myself."

She rolls her eyes and turns to walk away, one hand on one hip and the other twirling a piece of her hair, round and round.

"You're so weird."

"Love you too," I growl and watch her strut out through the door and down the stairs, her receding footsteps followed by the front door opening and slamming shut.

"That went rather well," I mutter to my reflection, raising an eyebrow and breaking out with one last smile. It really did go well considering who Autumn is, and who I am. Autumn being the girl everyone loves and wants to be, an up and coming victor District Two so proudly wants to boast about. Then me, the guy who 'hates the world' as I'm branded on more than one occasion everyday. Maybe I do hate the world, honestly it's none of anyone's business what I think. Although I enjoy making it their business, annoying people just because they're so uptight about their training and arrogant about what they can do and hiding what they can't do, is fun.

I shrug my shoulders one last time and do up the top button of my shirt. Really it's far too cringe-worthy for me to be wearing something like this but that's why I want to wear it. I'm not exactly going to go out and punch a Peacekeeper, so turning up wearing mismatching clothes is my own, somewhat pathetic, attempt at rebelling.

Oh well.

I leave my bedroom door and walk slowly down the stairs. Behind a wall somewhere to my left I hear muttering; it's safe to say no one who could potentially be the person talking would want to see me.

District Two, ever chilly, runs rampant with the training kids flocking to the streets. Instantly, there are kids I recognise, sporting their uniforms and chatting amongst themselves. Their raised voices do nothing to placate my bitterness, but it's fine, I don't mind the way I feel. Several of them quieten down when I join behind them, prodding each other in the shoulders and ever-so-subtly nodding in my direction. I smirk at each and every person that attempts to make eye contact and instantly they turn away, whispering far too loudly about me.

Autumn would love the attention, be it negative or positive. I hate it, but it's not like I try to stop it either. Sometimes it's far too tempting to say something

Above the chorus of cheers and hooting, somehow I can make out Autumn's incessant cackling. Amongst her friends she's some kind of icon, Clarrisa my other younger sister thinks it's overwhelming to be related to someone so... inspirational. Me, well, she knows my thoughts. She just doesn't like hearing them, no one does.

The whole of Panem assumes we're all worshippers of the Hunger Games. We're not, I know of a rare few who hates them as much as I do. But we'll never have a voice or be known, those the other Districts know are those who volunteer and want to kill. People like me are judged before we even get the chance to open our mouths.

It only takes another ten or so minutes for this wave of bobbing heads to part at the front of the Square. Peacekeepers line up strictly, scanning through the crowds as we join a queue and wait for our turn. Impatience is a guarantee, there's no real system of volunteering, anyone can go. The Peacekeepers are always on high alert for fights, potential volunteers always like to ruin another volunteer's chances before the time arrives... pretty funny, if I think about it.

"Next."

I move forwards instinctively and stare down at the little woman. She frowns at me the second I do rendering conversation immediately pointless. I let her get on with what she's paid to do and hold back the wince as I'm processed and shoved forwards rather aggressively into the main part of the Square. Celebration wise, the District loves to hang banners and posters of Victors around its inner housing. I spot the President on one of them, nearest to my own section.

A few people spare a second or two from their conversations to look over at me though they return the second I step past. I don't stand too far in the centre. With a space somewhere near the aisle I might as well be closer to a position where I can leave before the unfortunate volunteers who didn't quite make the cut, shove and scream in fury. Again, pretty funny, but pretty dangerous if you're caught in the midst of it all.

"District Two, District Two. Lovely to see you all gathered today," the mayor taps the microphone and a groan sweeps the District at the noise the speaker makes. He grins at us all, like this is some kind of torture, and nods slightly at the three Victors who step out onto the stage.

I recognise them immediately but pay less attention than the rest of the crowd. They mean nothing to me, so I don't really like to associate myself with them. Why bother?

He goes into his yearly spiel of rebellion and a time where the Capitol was forced to fight us all into a bitter defeat. I push it all out from my head and roll my eyes, nodding sarcastically and mumbling to myself. Then, the escort bounces on in a flourish of hands and feathers, grinning at us all with that wide mouth of hers.

She introduces herself and immediately begins to walk over to the female bowl. I look over at the countless stream of trainees preparing themselves. Autumn knows next year is her turn so I don't bother trying to find her. The second the name is pulled, all hell breaks loose and for once it's actually enjoyable watching them tear each other to pieces in hopes of making it to the stage.

The girl that does make it to the stage looks the least enthusiastic out of any of the girls who sob and scream below the steps. Saskia deValier, as she announces herself, shrugs her shoulders and looks out at nothing in particular. For once, I actually like... or at least, can put up with, a tribute from our District. The bored look is interesting, maybe she's not all bitchy and bloodthirsty like the rest of these idiots.

"Lochlan Clarington!"

I blanch for a second at the sound of my name, one ear ringing and one ear trying to make sure I heard it right. Me... Lochlan? I am Lochlan right?

I laugh and stare around at all the boys, waiting for the volunteer. When no one actually steps forwards, something sinks into my stomach and red shifts up from my gut and sets behind my eyes. Clenching my fists, I step out and walk towards the stage.

"Thanks guys. Thank you so ever much! I guess I'll take my place then right?" I shout, watching them all as they look up at me. Someone laughs, followed by another guy jeering at me. Someone from the back shouts he meant to volunteer and was about to but I had accepted my place so it was too late.

Bullshit.

Saskia looks me up and down, then resumes looking like this really isn't something she wants for herself. I don't either. What the hell is going on...?

Me, a tribute.

Yeah. Makes perfect sense.

For once in my life, I want one of those mindless brutes to do... something! But it's too late. As the escort places a hand on my back and guides me to the centre, I look out at their smug stupid faces and know that it's really happening.

Ironic, in a sense.

Who'd have thought it eh? This is going to suck.

* * *

**Kitty Lynch, District Twelve Female.**

* * *

Further on ahead I see my brother holding my younger sister's hand, pulling her along. Amongst their faces I see other people I recognise mixed in with a whole bunch I don't. The atmosphere on reaping day is always unbearable, no one puts up with a smile unless it's meant for comforting... fun isn't allowed because it's classed as abnormal.

With my head high and lips set apart, I skip as quickly as I can towards them. A few people already crane their heads at the gentle clacking my shoes make compared to the monotonous death march, but for once I allow myself a moment of non-conforming.

Zane turns to face me just as my feet land gracefully behind him. Ivy looks behind and immediately lights up and reaches forward, wrapping her arms round my waist and pulling me in. We're not many years apart but I enjoy the fact she sees me as a sort of role model. I know I'm not, and that quashes the tiny amount of happiness this feeling gives me, but it's enough for now.

"Are they not following you?" Zane stands taller on the tip of his toes and searches the crowd over my shoulder, scanning for our parents. "Guess not."

"They told me to run on ahead."

"Well, we don't want to be late, we'll get in trouble." Ivy's hands are pried apart and immediately Zane begins walking off ahead of me. Quickly, I pick up speed and follow afterwards, ignoring the looks several people send my way.

"We won't get in trouble Zane. When I was late last year, nothing happened."

For a second Zane halts, hanging his head, but it's only brief and he resumes his silent pace. I feel my teeth bite into my lip and roll my eyes. It's best I don't focus on it, I don't want to be down today. Not like everyone else. For once I'll ignore their looks and their words and focus on remaining positive. Reaping day can easily get to a person, I'm determined to not let these people ruin what I'm holding.

Zane soon gets swallowed by the crowd. I give up searching and continue by myself slowly but with a lot more bounce in my step. I don't set out to be annoying but I understand it's part of who I am, people have always called me it. Even my older brother struggles to be around me, maybe I should look at myself and attempt a change. Transformation isn't something instant though. I push that idea to the back of my head and step closer and closer to the parting crowd, splitting into the queues.

_Keep focused and things will be alright, even if it's hard._

Not many people talk, those who do only whisper quietly amongst close huddles of family and friends. It's awkward being by myself, I can't see anyone I know to latch onto which makes the impatient wait that much harder. By the time I reach the desk at the front, I frown at the Peacekeeper and immediately shrink back at the glare he reciprocates with.

Without warning, he jabs my finger and a tiny yelp parts from my lips. I scowl and put my bleeding finger in my mouth as the registration device bleeps and he ushers me on forwards. Even if I wanted to stand still, there's no real way to do so. The crowd hurriedly guides me on, pushing me towards my section without really meaning to.

The other fifteen year old girls stare at me as I squeeze along the line, holding a breath and sucking in my chest to push myself down. Finally, I take my place between two taller girls and look up at the blank stage.

_Stay calm Kitty, stay calm. You've always tried to smile. Smiling is what you're good at..._

"Miaow," I jump up at the girlish squeak and frown at the giggling that follows a second after. The girl in front of me twists her neck and makes a face, staring at the other one next to her and sharing another laugh.

"Good morning... Kitty," I hear one girl making a stupid purring noise which only makes my fingers clench tightly into fists. Up on stage I see the mayor walking out alongside our only Victor: Callan, and begin the treaty.

"Interesting morning?"

I hold eye contact with the smallest one, the other girl nudging her and egging her on. The girls either side of me continue to stare ahead, pretending not to notice. No one really cares about a little unfortunate interaction. Especially if it's me involved.

"Good, thanks for asking."

"Had a fight with a Peacekeeper? Escaped a mine explosion? Killed the President?"

The two girls burst out laughing, high-fiving one another as warmth spreads across my cheeks. They turn at the sound of static and I stare at the ground, willing for it to be over. Whatever I tried to do, that's all gone. In less than a minute, I want to go home and stay there for the day.

Why do they bring it up...?

I know, I don't help myself. I know all that, I know! But does that matter right now, today of all days? Besides, killing the President is totally unbelievable. I wouldn't be that stupid to make up such a thing...

I really don't help myself.

"Time to pick our lucky little lady, let's do this girls!"

I concede to watching the show, the escort beaming sunshine and rainbows and... kittens. I laugh at myself and watch her fingers swirl in the midst of all those slips. I have quite a few but not near as many as a lot of girls. A voice lingering in the back of my mind wishes for the girl in front to be picked, but I hold that back and scold myself. No, no one deserves that. Not even a short little bully.

"Kitty Lynch!"

Immediately, the girls around me split apart. Some laugh nervously, others look at me for once with pity, whilst the girls in front openly giggle. Do they not understand what just happened? That was my name. Kitty. Kitty Lynch. I'm a tribute...

I'm a tribute.

What happens next isn't something I mean to do, or something I want. But at this point, control of my emotions has all but gone. All I see through my tears is a watery blur, a tiny little sound coming out my mouth as a Peacekeeper guides me up to the stage.

I am a tribute.

Today wasn't a day for me to smile about, I shouldn't have fooled myself about anything. People don't like me because I'm not what a person wants in a friend. And it's come to haunt me, is this fate sneaking up or just bad luck?

Either way, I don't want to go... I don't...

"Please."

No one listens to me as the male name is called. I'm just another tribute now, another name to add to the list of dead. I'm nothing, and I hate that. All I want is to be something and that's been taken from me, the minute my cannon sounds... I'm just another girl. Another tribute. Another nobody.

* * *

**Atarah Neve, District Nine Female.**

* * *

I try to wish away the bad thoughts but nothing seems to work. My fingers clench tightly round the midsection of my dress, my back pressed deep into the cushion whilst I stare at the door. I sense tears building up, a sob somewhere tickling the back of my throat, but I push that all down. As well as the tears, there's something else. I don't like it, but it's there. The accusation of the escort, the desire to call her out and demand why it was me... why me of all people. I can't though, I don't like anger. I hate it; those who are angry are people who are unhappy about their lives and take it out on the world. I like my life... liked... _liked Atarah, you haven't got that long left._

My body quivers just in time to the door silently clicking open, the Peacekeeper pushes in with his visor blocking the top section of his face. The second my father crosses over from the corridor towards me, I leap up and bolt into his open arms. I feel his chest shaking, a hand patting the back of my head as drops of water fall onto my hair. He's crying and that only makes things worse for me. We've always been strong together, for one another, that's the way it works for the pair of us. We get through things together, as a team, it's how we pass the days with a smile on our faces and remain appreciative of a world that only wants the worst from us.

How can I remain so calm and quiet when this has happened? I bet it's a question everyone in my shoes has ever asked, but it's one that presses at the back of my mind. Why me... why me...?

"It's okay," I embrace him tightly, taking in his warmth and trying to build a memory inside my head for me to cling to. If he's there with me, maybe it will make the process easier. Through the darkest of times he's always been by my side, and now that there's no physical way of him accompanying me, I can take him mentally... he'd want that, I'm his little girl no matter how old I am, he'd want to help me somehow.

"This isn't fair, this isn't..." his voice breaks to a sob that crawls its way out of his mouth. I feel my insides breaking, a vice clenching round my heart as I watch my father break. It takes every ounce of strength I can possibly conjure for me not to tall in a heap and let my emotions pile out. It's not fair for me to do so, not for my father. He needs to know I have some hope, a tiny shred of something that he can cling to knowing I'm not just going to give up. If his last image is of his daughter, broken on the floor, what does that tell him? I'm not the strongest of girls, I know that, but I can at least try... right? All I have is my ability to try, hopefully that will be enough.

"Nothing's fair, father. It never has been." I gently unwrap myself from his embrace and step backwards, staring up at his tortured expression, eyes watery red and lips quivering. I close my eyes for a brief second and take a deep breath, settling my stomach at rest. When I open them, a smile curls up my face and for the smallest of seconds I picture myself returning to see him.. and I like it, I like it a lot. I know victors don't return the same but that's a sacrifice I'm willing to take. I don't want to hurt others, all I've ever wanted is to go along life peacefully and help those in need of help. But from this moment on, the people who need help are the people who will try to take my life... there's no second option here.

If I want to see him again... I have to-

My mind flips at that and I stumble forwards, barely landing in my father's arms once more. I'm not a killer, what am I thinking really? There's no conceivable way I can go from a field worker to a murderer, is that even possible? Visualising taking the life of one of those careers, the people who asked for this, is one thing.. but the others, the people like me who are terrified and want their parents to tell them that it's alright like any parent should do, is that fair of me to think this way...?

"I don't know what to do, I don't," I let the first tear roll down my nose and then the next, before I even process what's happening I open myself up and let my body shake with the sobs that finally unleash themselves. My chest burns, my mind blurs as my father cradles my shaking body, stroking my back and telling me it'll be okay. It won't though... I'm a girl from District Nine, I work on a field of grain, I'm not a killer. I'm not what the Capitol wants as their victor. I'm a normal girl who smiles at strangers and tends to their needs if they have any.

Why me?

"I know Atarah, I know," he cradles me in his arms, blinking back his own tears so I can shed mine. I want to see him again but at the same time I can't take away another parent's right to see their own child. That makes me a hypocrite... selfish... I'm not those things. I can't be those things.

"I don't want this. I don't want this..."

Nothing else is said, there isn't anything else I can say. My throat burns, my chest aches, every fibre of my body is tired. I just want to go to sleep and let this nightmare disappear, wake up in my bed and have my dad comfort me and tell me it was all a bad dream. It isn't though. This is now my life, my future. If I want out, I either die or kill. At this moment in time, who knows what the better option is. Kill or die. Or both. Neither isn't an option, not if I want to win. If I'm to see my dad again, at least one life will have to drift away by my hand... I can't cope with that... but I have to. I know I have to.

"It'll be okay," he whispers into my ear. "It'll be okay."

It won't be okay, not anymore. From this moment, nothing's ever going to be okay... and I'm scared of that.

* * *

**Alton Shelding, District Ten Male.**

* * *

The moment they step through the door and enter my waiting room, they crumble. It's not a gradual change, something that takes time as the three step over the carpet and tread carefully, it's instantaneous. My sister wails into my mother's scruffy shirt, clinging to her hip even though she's an eighteen year old girl. The so-called man of the house grabs his wife by the shoulder and sobs into the crook of her neck. Meanwhile, the only woman I can count on for such a lack of emotion has a face the colour of milk, tears so plainly obvious as they trail down her cheeks, joining the wave of them that the other two continue to shed.

A part of me urges my eyes to roll, that this really isn't something they should fret over. But it is... isn't it? I mean, what kind of person sentenced to death doesn't let it all out and hug their family in their last goodbye? It's not something I have any control over, really, for a while now it's just been how it is. And how it is is all they're going to get, even if the sight of water marks and red eyes stirs something in my chest.

Nothing is enough though, it's just bad luck my name was the one pulled from the bowl.

"W-why..." my sister's voice croaks, reaches a pitch higher than usual, and fazes out. Her face creases as she cries out for me, though none of them close the gap. The way they stare at me, it's almost like the fact I'm reaped is infectious, one touch and they'll be whisked away to the Capitol. A smirk plays on my face, though I don't mean it to. I guess this really is it.

"Why what? Why I was chosen. I guess it's fate sis, my destiny to be a tribute and all that," I joke, watching for any hint of something lighter than what they're currently showing. Truthfully, this is more awkward than anything. I've never really seen my parents fret over anything other than food and sustaining our family, and that never crosses over from simple pacing and hurried voices.

I pat down a crease in my trouser leg and avert eye contact. If they're looking for some sort of emotional reaction, I hate to disappoint. Some people believe that the reaped tributes were always destined to be tributes from their birth, that nothing could divert from the path something had chosen for them. My sister's one of those people all big on destiny and I enjoy teasing her about it. Back when I was more into shows of such dramatics and silliness, she'd fight back at an equal display of passion. Now, we get along more because I'm not all into that. Surely she understands that since I've toned myself down, she can't rely on me to stand up and tell her it'll all be okay. Because, it won't, will it? I'm dead. I know I'm dead, I was dead ever since 'Alton Shelding' rang out from that idiot's mouth for all the world to hear.

If I can accept that, my family should. Clinging to some sort of meager hope that I'll step off that train, a new victor for Panem to fawn over... it's ridiculous... stupid... it's something I want.

"You laughed son, you laughed when you were called?"

I remember that vividly, it only happened around ten or so minutes ago. I bet they all thought I was crazy... good I guess, if there ever comes a time strategy plays a part in my future choices, I could use that to my advantage.

"The wise man speaks," I chuckle. Sometimes I scold myself for being inappropriate, but if there was ever a time to lighten the mood it's now.

"You don't laugh when you're reaped Alton... it's not normal."

Mother and father have dulled down the tears in favour of coherent speech, though my sister stands there shaking and quivering, knees knocking together as she stares wide-eyed at my face. A joke forces its way to my tongue but luckily this time I hold it back and look over to my parents once more.

"I laughed because... well, honestly, it just came out."

For the first time since stepping in, they move once more. The invisible barrier is broken and my sister lurches forwards, clutching my knee her sobs go silent but body grows more and more violent in movements. Mother spares a second to look down at her with pity then back up at me. I'm the star of the show after all, aren't I? Sister's tears are nothing compared to a corpse that currently hasn't died yet.

"Maybe it's possible, maybe it is."

"Winning?" I let out a short laugh and shake my head. "I don't really think I'm the victor type, do you mother?"

She rubs her cheeks furiously and bites her lip. I know she doesn't but why let the truth out, it's easier to bottle things up and pretend otherwise. That's a trick I learnt to stop using, in the long run it's simpler to accept fate rather than tackle it and try to change what has happened. Honesty over delusion, that's what I always say.

"If it means anything, I will miss you guys."

I will, even I'll admit to something like that. It's not enough to spur some heartfelt farewell and cradle my broken family, but it has to be enough to satisfy them; at least leave them knowing I actually cared. A boy howling with laughter at being reaped isn't the lasting image I want to give them.

No one really says anything anymore, the clock ticks down these fleeting minutes as the three of them embrace me and whisper sentiments into my ear.

When it's time for them to go, I step up and see them off, watching their backs leave behind an open door that closes the moment they turn the corner. I will miss them. They're my family through and through, nothing can change that. I just hope my death doesn't hit them too much, I don't want to hurt them when there's nothing I can do to make it any better.

Not that making it better is something I'm good at, if anything I only make things so much worse.

* * *

**And here are the first six tributes!**

**There will be eight of these pre-game chapters, six POVs per one which enables every tribute to star twice before I start to kill these lovely guys and gals off ;D**

**This is out earlier than I expected. I thought I'd be writing the ending for my other SYOT but instead I got too excited and wanted to start writing for this. Maybe there will be a delay in the next chapter since I do really need to write this other chapter, but hopefully not. I'm having a lot of fun!**

_**Favourite from these six and why?**_

**Next chapter will take us into the Capitol. Until next time!  
**


	4. Impressions

**Impressions.**

* * *

"_Some people make headlines while others make history." - Philip Elmer-DeWitt_

* * *

**Tyndall Martinez, District Three Male.**

* * *

"What's that you have there?"

I blink furiously in response to the soft tinkling of her voice. Adelie stares at me with glossed over eyes but a permanent smile lighting up the lower portion of her face. I look down at the chewed up pen between my fingers, a few lines of dark ink sprawled across my fingers.

Instant memories flash behind my eyes and I smile. I'm going to miss home for what it meant to me, for what it was.

"It's my token."

The other mentor, a younger but brighter Dessa, narrows her eyes and smirks a little. She's not mean or anything, it just takes a lot to break her down. "A pen?" she raises an eyebrow and I chuckle, nodding my head and twirling it between my index finger and thumb.

"Seems a bit weird, but that's District Three for you," I chime, smiling brightly at the pair of them. Ada mumbles under her breath next to me, her face deep in thought and back pressed into the cushion. Dessa rolls her eyes and Adelie cackles at that, myself only gently retaliating. I don't want to be mean to Ada, if she's quiet she's quiet. I'm not a very open person myself, we all have personal secrets that keep ourselves rooted down and anchor us to reality. Ada might just be one of the more awkward, silent types. In Three, we all know them.

"Who gave you the pen, kid?"

Adelie elbows Dessa in the side playfully, the younger girl scrunches her face and pushes back. The two are like little children and I laugh along with them as the short fight plays through. The problems with Adelie's head quickly kick in and she freezes, Dessa relaxing and clutching her shoulder immediately. Nothing's too bad when she kicks into her episodes but Dessa knows to calm down instantly. I simply stare at the two of them, curiosity on overdrive but the questions dying before they can spill out in a pile of word vomit.

I have a small amount of tact as it goes, I can hold a conversation unlike a certain few I'm acquainted with. I enjoy light-hearted interaction but nothing too full on and intense, it's hard to focus on life and the problems you face if you can't get a second thought in and an opinion out to the people you're supposedly speaking to.

"How are you two feeling fresh from the reaping then?" Dessa puts in, completely ignoring the fact that such a topic might still be sensitive. I don't flinch or anything, and Ada simply continues to stare at the table with no sort of interest in what's happening in front, but there are a few painful memories that surface back again, barely absorbed in such a short time. I can't really believe it happened, though I doubt anyone whose been in my position can, unless they volunteered that is.

Really, I'm terrified of dying and scared of what lies beyond all that, but I'm not dramatic or over-emotional. When I cry, there's always something that pushes me over that wall and into the state of depression. The reaping was more shock than anything else and that's still trying to set in my stomach right now. The fact it was me... I don't really know what to say to that.

"It's hard to put into words I guess," I mumble in response, a little less driven to speak right now. Dessa frowns and returns attention back on Ada.

"What about you then Miss Sunshine, feeling okay?"

Ada's lip twitches and from my position, I notice the quick movement in her hands. The nails scratch at the thread-line in her skirt, her fingers tightening just a tiny bit. I blink and stare back up at Dessa, shaking my head, warning her.

It seems I'm still learning about our young victor, because apparently she doesn't know what a shake of the head actually stands for.

"Come on," I hear Ada grunt as Dessa's foot connects with her leg. "I understand you're scared but a little conversation never hurt."

I agree, Dessa. But not at a time like this.

Ada's neck moves, not by much, but enough for her eyes to glance up and lock with Dessa's. The mentor cheers sarcastically but the moment the noise dwindles into nothing, Ada's head completely moves up and her lips curl into a snarl.

"If you don't mind, kid," she bites back with, bitterly. "I'd rather not talk about it. My entire life has just been stolen from me by the city that is meant to protect us and the fact I have a little child yapping in my ear is not helping. I'd like to point out that whilst, yes, you may have experience in this field, I am eighteen years of age and you, Dessa Emrick, are only seventeen. Do not call me kid or presume to understand what can and can't hurt me."

It's hard to really put into words the atmosphere right now. Dessa's jaw hangs open with her eyes forming perfect circles. Adelie's smiling dreamily, no real connection to anything, and then there's me. I'm halfway between congratulating Ada for standing up for herself, and scolding her for such an unnecessary tirade against the one person who's here to help her.

I barely make a single noise when Ada pushes herself up from the table and storms off, marching away and down to her own room behind the sliding mechanical door.

"That was certainly... dramatic."

Dessa cracks her fingers and sits, gawping at the closed door she just left through. I try to get her attention again, waving and tapping away at the table but Dessa does nothing but simply stare. I guess she's just not used to a little back-chat, makes sense when all we seem to get from our District are quiet, timid little children. I'm quiet, Ada's quiet, but we both seem to be able to speak when we're required to. However it seems at rather different levels of volume, myself going for friendly, Ada going for complete hostility.

She'll be hard to talk to, I mentally note. Though maybe there is hope for her yet.

"Are you alright Dessa?" Adelie clicks into action and grabs onto Dessa's shoulder. All I can really do is sit and stare at the two of them. They may be as different as night and day, but they've been together through a lot, a connection between the two no one can take away. I remember trying to force myself into little social groups and making sure I could maybe one day find someone similar to the way these two look at each other.

I did, in a sense. But that was taken from me. Everything's been ruined by the Games.

"I didn't need that slapped in my face. I may be seventeen but I won... I won..."

There's nothing I can say. Nothing calming or tender to help Dessa relax, only Adelie can do such a thing. So all I do is sit down, lean back and rest my head against the window. Endless fields and forests merge and blur into one another, streaming past me as my eyes gently flutter shut. It's easy to fall asleep. Time's not really an issue after you've been reaped for the Hunger Games.

* * *

**Cynder Duke, District Five Male.**

* * *

Celene takes a seat opposite Taryn and rests her head in her hands. The young mentor smiles and picks up one of the cupcakes from the tray, pink swirls smothered across the top. I lick my lips hungrily and grab one myself, listening to Celene laugh and Taryn wolfing her own cake down greedily.

From the looks of it, I like Taryn. She's relatable being near our age and a lot easier to get along with than my own mentor. Kinnard's a real downer, always putting things in a negative perspective and urging me to take things seriously. I am, he doesn't understand that I plan on winning, but there's no harm in at least smiling right? A smile can go a long way, thankfully I've found two people who know how to do such a thing.

Unfortunately, Celene has to die for me to win. But I'd rather cross that bridge when it comes to it, right now I happily shove another cake into my throat and wash it down with a gulp of orange juice, leaning back into my chair cushion.

"Do you two know each other then?" Taryn bites into another one and motions her hand between the pair of us. I glance over at Celene and she beams at me, twirling a piece of her hair around a finger. I don't know Celene. She doesn't seem all that with it so my parents wouldn't have approved of me spending time with her. After a long period of time in her company I can guess it gets a little annoying. She's always looking off in the distance, or laughing at something completely random. Still, it's better than having no one with me.

"No, but I think I've heard of you. Cynder Duke, your father's called Duke Duke," she slaps a hand against the table and bursts out laughing. I grin at that; yes my father is named, for whatever reason, Duke Duke. It's a constant joke between me and my friends, something he's rather proud of for reasons we mock him for.

"That's him," I notice Kinnard stepping towards a seat to my left, settling himself down slowly into the cushion and resting his cheek against the window. "Don't let him hear you laughing though. He won't like it one little bit."

"He sounds fun, better than my dad."

For a brief second that infectious optimism vanishes, the pause between happy Celene and downtrodden something of a spectacle. Taryn frowns and reaches out her hand, before her nails can reach Celene's curled up fingers, she leans back up and smiles again.

"Oh well, I guess that's in the past huh?"

I nod sadly and take another cupcake. I never thought I'd be reaped, not in a million years. When you're eighteen years old and nearing the end of those dreaded years, you become hopeful. And I had that hope snatched from me at the very last second, just a slip to the left and I'd be home and Celene would be talking to someone else completely.

It makes me feel guilty imagining the idea of another child condemned to death, but humanity is selfish. I accept that self-loving side that fights for itself and embrace it. I'm not rude to others, I care and talk to them like I am right this moment, but at the end of the day I have to kill to win.

The moment I was reaped, I knew what I'd have to do. Dip into the old brains a bit, use the very strength I possess that I've tried to keep hidden. It's not that people don't respect those with a knack for intellect, it's just keeping it away from the eyes of others was a lot more rewarding than being known as some kind of brain-box.

Celene's a ditz, more so than anyone I've ever met. People like her relate more to someone closer to their level, I find company to be more rewarding if I'm lying to them. It's not right, deceiving them, though really no one's getting hurt. At least, they weren't. In a few days they will, no stopping where this train is headed.

"Do you think the Capitol will like me, Taryn?"

I break out of my thought patterns and watch the two of them converse. Taryn manages to reach her hand in time, clutching onto it and running her fingers comfortingly along her own. Celene chirps up and laughs but it's strained, forced even.

Poor Celene, she doesn't stand much of a chance in this.

"They'll love you Celene. You're you, that's all that matters."

Ouch. I ignore that and nod along with Taryn, smiling at Celene who turns to face me, seeking my own reflection on what the Capitol desires. Truthfully, they want her blood. Celene's too much of a nice girl to understand the meaning of death, too optimistic to realise her chances are barely substantial. They barely exist at all.

"You're happy Celene, more than can be said for some people," I joke, directed mainly at Kinnard who remains stationary in his booth, cheek in hand and eyes watching the raindrops cascade down the window. I give up with him, he's the downer of the entire group, Celene's the real optimistic one who struggles to grasp onto reality and then there's me. Maybe I actually can do this, I'm somewhere in the middle. Happy to speak, get to know others and remain positive, but aware of what must be done and willing to use others for my own personal survival.

I've lied for so many years, it's like second nature. Now I can manipulate the truth whilst using my main talents. At the moment it looks like I have a solid game plan, Taryn would kill me if she knew what I was thinking though. Maybe Kinnard will have his uses after all.

"Have you two thought about potential alliances?"

I bite my lip, honestly yes, and honestly Celene isn't one of those options. I need people I can use but people who are strong in themselves, there's no real point in using someone if my plan will fall apart the second they die in the bloodbath. Celene smiles and looks at me, assuming we're together by the mere eye contact I create.

I smile and reach out for her hand. I could lie, though right now, I'll calm her down. I'm not an evil person.

"Me and Celene have this, we'll think about another person later on."

Taryn nods eagerly and drums her fingers against the tabletop. She twists her head to face Kinnard who appears to have fallen asleep in his chair. I sigh, she sighs, and Celene bursts out laughing.

We're a mismatched group, two genuine people, Kinnard the Downer and me... the only one who really has a clue. Taryn won, sure, but I remember it was a fluke. It wasn't meant to turn out that way.

"We'll be arriving in the Capitol shortly, better get yourselves ready. I'll be right behind you every step of the way, don't you worry about nothing."

She's as bad as Celene. We have everything to worry about, an entire country is waiting for my blood to spill, Celene to be cut up and twenty-one others to die. There's nothing we shouldn't be worried about.

It's how I'm going to win, by using my nerves and those of others to my advantage. There aren't just good and bad people in the world, there are those in the middle; people like me.

The train loses momentum, closing in under a tunnel and Kinnard jolts awake at the sudden darkness. We can't all be winners, some of us are simply cut out for victory, others don't stand a chance. I have to be in the former category, there's no other option for me.

* * *

**Megaera Cassian, District Four Female.**

* * *

Lucinda runs her hand delicately along my forearm, smiling down at me whilst I sit stark naked against the metal slab. Pots of different sizes reek of lavender, roses and strawberries, lining the tray she plays with. Her skeletal hand dances along my wrist once more before she leans back and smirks at me for a final time.

"Now," she trills, "you don't require much modification for my vision to come true. With a tweak here and there I'm sure you'll fit the bill."

Excuse me?

Under the edges jutting from the platform, I let my hands fall and curl at the knuckles. How dare she insinuate such a thing? Sure, I'm no Little-Miss-Perfect but I'm close, closer than anyone else here with me that's for certain. I plaster that behind a grin and push myself up on my elbows, staring back at her.

"And what is your vision exactly?" I laugh.

Lucinda claps her hands together enthusiastically and jumps up, head barely missing the overhead light swishing back and forth. It's hard to stomach these morons, their devotion to fashion is one thing but their moronic nature is something else. The problem with Lucinda is, I'm almost one hundred percent certain that it isn't an act.

This is her true self. Myself, on the other hand, well... if I wasn't holding back, the scissors nearest to her would be embedded in an artery and I'd be out of this room. But we all have restrictions and I find a little ditziness lowers people's boundaries, leaving the way open for little ol' me to waltz on in.

"Mermaids of course Megan!"

I shake my head and force a laugh out. "Megaera, silly. My name's Megaera Cassian, District Four's newest victor."

She waves that off almost instantly and again, I coil my hands round the grip of the platform and silently shake. I've been called a loose cannon before, always exploding spontaneously and leaving people rather... surprised. Luckily, she's a dolt and I've handled people way worse. A little anger is good, helps the act.

"The beauty of your District is of course the ocean. I've never seen it firsthand but tradition is tradition and Four has always been represented with some kind of symbolic outfit representing the water."

"It's a beautiful idea Lucy!"

She beams at me and hops closer towards my platform. "I knew you were a girl of intelligence. Mermaids are so going to be the next big thing once this is over!"

I nod a little too much, sickly grin on my face and let it fall the moment she turns away towards the compartment bolted into the side of the room. Mermaids. Yes, Lucinda. Your originality is extraordinary. If this was just a game of killing – the only part I actually care about – I wouldn't even bother with such a trivial state of affairs. Dressing up, playing dolls with a brat from the Capitol, it's way down on my list of priorities.

But today, it has to be done. The Games focus on beauty as well as brutality, thankfully I was blessed with looks others don't possess. If there was ever a tribute who has the right combination of talent to win, Lucinda is standing right near her.

It's only a matter of eradicating twenty-three others and paving the way to my inevitable future.

"Your district partner's a real cutie." Great, girl talk.

"He is, isn't he?" I coo, school-girl wide eyes replacing a scowl. Lucinda twists her body back round and steps towards me with a thin, silver hairbrush. She slowly goes through my long hair, removing the tiniest of tangles and knots, leaving each strand silky as it falls against my back.

"Will he be a merman?" I ask. A piece of hair pulls a bit too tight and I dramatically wince. Lucinda squeals and apologises profusely, stroking my head tenderly. In the space of mere minutes we've gone from her judging me, to babying me like she's my new mother. I hate my own mother so I honestly don't need another one of those, but it's good to see her opening up to me. I wonder if the Capitol has any secrets regarding this years Games, Lucinda could be a great source of information in the right hands.

"Matteo will be a sea captain, you his new prize."

"Will he have a hook and everything?"

Lucinda pulls down again with the hairbrush and laughs out loud. "Something like that, though we've gone for a more sexy pirate rather than a washed up drunk."

Matteo is annoying, to say the very least. The last thing I want to see is him dressed in something deemed as 'sexy' in the eyes of these perverted young women. I admit he's attractive, but that's the only compliment he'll get out of me, and it's not like I'd ever voice it in the open unless it was necessary for getting close to him. I haven't quite worked him out yet, whether or not his arrogance demands my attraction or if he can get it on with the bimbo from One instead. She's probably just another classic airhead, fawning over anything with a pulse.

"I can't wait to see our outfits, I bet we'll get tonnes of sponsors," I grip tighter onto the table with both hands, her pulls getting more forceful as she goes through the lower parts of my hair. Through each cry she apologises, but I laugh those off and allow her to continue.

"Don't you worry about those sponsors, after you get out there and show them what you've got, you and Matteo will be swimming in money!" she cheers at her pun, eagerly grips onto my shoulders, and plants a kiss on the top of my head.

Disgust is the first thing I feel, urging me to repel her away with some sort of crude hand gesture or violent reaction. Though before the temptation overwhelms me, she's gone back over to the other side of the room, digging around in a closet of some sorts.

I'm not looking forward to being paraded around as a mermaid, stuck next to the cocksure moron I'm sure Matteo is. I just want the real part to this journey to begin, why I bothered volunteering in the first place. It wasn't for this farce, it was for violence, for the years of my training to culminate in something much more exciting.

First of all, mermaid time, regrettably. I flash her a winning smile the second she turns, fins in hand and seaweed extensions interlaced with her fingers. It's hard to find a single good thing, a dozen insults burning the tip of my tongue, but I do what I do best and lie behind my positivity.

If I can fool Lucinda with what she loves, I'll fool the other tributes with what they pride themselves over. It's all about working out who your opponents are and how to twist that against them. I'm a master of such a strategy, it's how I'm going to win this.

"Now let's get your tail on!"

Great...

* * *

**Kennedy Ames, District Eight Female.**

* * *

"I am not wearing that."

Trilla glares at me with the patch of fabric folded over her hands. I glare back, unrelenting and wait for her to give up. Her purple eyes bulge out of their sockets, contrasting with her red skin. I want to laugh but right now, no, I'm angry and if I give in I'll be pushed into this slutty patchwork dress.

If you can even call it a dress.

"For the last time Kennedy, this isn't a negotiation. I am your stylist and I demand you to put on what you have been ordered to wear."

"On whose authority."

Her lip twitches and she takes a hesitant step forwards. "I swear... if you weren't a tribute. I'd..."

"You'd what? Kill me? I'd like to see you try."

Finally, she breaks. Throwing her hands in the air, the dress lands in a heap on the metallic floor. I finally unclench every muscle and allow my face to relax. Smirking at her, she storms past and out through the glass door. This isn't the last of it but for now, it's a momentary victory and I'll revel in it before I am forced into that scrap of cloth.

I didn't argue with her knowing I'd get away with it, but still, better to prolong the future for as long as possible.

I sigh heavily and rest my hands on the white sheet covering my body, another thing I ordered to be given. Trilla didn't take to it any better than she did this, apparently nakedness is essential for the process to be complete. She can shove that. I'm not standing naked in front of a strange woman, no matter who or what she calls herself. I'm about to be killed, I should be permitted to hold onto some shred of dignity.

The automatic doors slide in backwards, opening up to the hallway in front. My eyes roll when Trilly waddles on back in, Lawson my mentor hanging behind her.

The second his eyes fall on mine, I reluctantly stare down at the ground, dragging my foot in front of the other. My mind reels back to my goodbye when my father held back my family from comforting me, staring at me with stern eyes. I knew he loved me but he didn't want me to believe I could do this based on petty ideas of my family wanting me to return. I respect that, but then he told me to control my temper, that it would be the one thing to get me in more trouble than anything else and I realised he was telling the truth.

With Trilly, it's easier to release my temper, she's nothing but a supporter to what the Capitol is doing to us all. Lawson though, he's done nothing but try to help me since I met him. That's why I struggle to meet his eyes, why when he places a gentle hand on my shoulder all I can feel is guilt stirring inside of me.

"Kennedy," he whispers calmly. "Come on, look at me."

I hate this babying. I'm not a child, I don't want to be pushed around and made to be like some wounded puppy when I don't get my way. If it was anyone else, even Davin, I would lash out with something harsh. But it isn't... I can't go against his word.

My eyes slowly flutter open and stare at Lawson, chin tilted up. He smiles when we make eye contact and the grip on my shoulder relinquishes.

"Why won't you wear what Trilly gave you?"

I glare at her over his shoulder, then at the trash she wanted me to parade about in. It's not the design on it, Eight is expected to be dressed in some silly representation of our industry. Patches of different fabric, I can handle that. It's the length, the low cut chest line, that's not something I want to be forced into. Not to mention the fact I'm only fifteen years old.

"Have you seen it Lawson? No one with a shred of self respect would put that on."

Trilly dramatically gasps and I snicker, relishing in the one thing I can find some ounce of satisfaction. Lawson sighs again and shakes his head.

"It's for one night of your life. Trilly has dealt with all ages, and believe me when I say you're by far one of the easiest kids she's had to work with."

"So why'd she come running to you?"

"Because," he relaxes his shoulders and runs a hand through his shaggy hair. "She knows your type, you don't see her as some sort of authority figure but will listen if I came to speak to you."

I hate it when people see right through me. My cheeks burn instantly and I avert my gaze for a brief moment, staring at the ground. Trilly immediately brightens at my expression when I look back over at her. She's won this round, she knows she has.

"I'm going to die soon... I just wanted..."

The words sink into my chest and I hiccup, the strain of fighting bearing down on everything. It's tiring, trying to just be yourself when everyone's trying to help and tell you what to do. And then, just as things started to get a little better, this happened. How am I not supposed to be angry? Father wanted me to control my main weakness... how am I meant to do that?

"Trilly could easily have made little effort. It may not seem it but from the moment you stepped through that door she's been helping you and your chances in this. You're already at a disadvantage because of where you're from, as bad as this may be and what tonight stands for, that dress is a ticket to sponsors."

"And sponsors save my life." I mutter, giving in completely.

Lawson smiles sadly up at me. Tears, somewhere, try to push their way out onto my eyelashes, but I've lost this, I won't lose the sense of boundaries I've managed to hold strong. Trilly meets Lawson's side and timidly, allows herself to stroke my arm.

"I am here to help, Kennedy. You can hate me and where I'm from but no matter what you feel towards who I am, that doesn't change the fact you are my tribute and my responsibility. Please, wear the dress."

There really is nothing else left to do or say. I can't apologise, that's the one thing no one can expect from me. As bad or as guilty I may feel coming out a fight I never should have gotten into in the first place, such a vulnerable state just isn't possible. It's like crying, I just can't apologise.

But I do go for the dress, and I do get changed once Lawson has left.

It's disgusting, revealing, nothing I'd wear in a million years. But I smile when I step out of my room and thank Trilly for her efforts to present me to the best possible standard there is. I can hate her, as she said, but I can't push her away.

Trilly takes my hand in hers once we reach the elevator. Davin grins broadly the moment we step in, and down we go towards the chariots. I may hate the way I look, but it's this dress that could give me what I need come the Arena. If there's a chance that this will help me win, then the Capitol can expect a show from me tonight. Doesn't matter what I'm wearing.

* * *

**Elijah Fawkes, District Nine Male.**

* * *

Atarah tugs on the hem of her dress whilst we stand, hip to hip. Both of us are fitted head to toe in nothing but strands of grain, knotted and woven together to form a netting of some sort. It's tight but at least I'm covered up, unlike the pair from Four and the girl from Eight just in front of us.

She scrunches up her face when she boards her chariot and I burst out laughing at the sight. I don't mean anything bad by it but when she shoots a stern glare my way, I calm down just a tad and turn back to face Atarah.

"At least we're not naked," I joke, hoping she'll respond this time. Atarah only goes a deeper shade of red and weakly smiles at me, avoiding all eye-contact. I shuffle half an inch in her direction as the empty chariots start to fill up even more. We've been told there's still at least fifteen or so minutes until show-time, but escorts are obsessive people, hell-bent on keeping to a strict schedule. We were the first ones down here.

"Your stylist seems nice. What was her name again, Renoe?"

Atarah bites her lips and nods, still keeping her body half turned away from me. I frown a little and look over her shoulder at the pair from Eleven walking out, the girl scowling and the boy staring straight ahead with a conflicted face. Everyone's so on edge, all of them trying to build up a sense of protection that'll give them an advantage when it comes to feeling like they have a chance.

I'm not a killer, neither is Atarah. We both must know that when it comes to fighting we're two of the odd one outs. Maybe in her eyes, she's like everyone else and seems to expect me to be one of the people who actually could challenge the careers based on nothing but my appearance. I hope she isn't a simple-minded girl, she seems a lot nicer than that which is why I'm only trying to ease her a little bit. It's nice to let loose a little and not feel like talking is such a bad thing.

"It was a little awkward with mine. He," I laugh, rather ashamedly, mind flitting back to that brief encounter when I wasn't... well, fully clothed. "-he sort of, mumbled that I looked pretty darn good. It was nice to hear that but not from him, you know." I laugh again, body shaking and elbow jerking out slightly. It knocks into Atarah who – thank the heavens – giggles. She actually giggles.

See, it only takes patience and you get somewhere with people.

"My stylist said I had nice hair."

An overhead speaker crackles with some kind of static, a shriek knocking me back from somewhere a few chariots in front. I wonder why everyone's so jumpy right now, it's only a chariot ride. By now we've seen plenty, know how they work and I can't be the only teenager who never once saw themselves in a tribute's shoes, wondering if it was me, what I'd do. I can't be.

"You do have nice hair Atarah, it's really pretty," I stress, sidling back along the chariot and beaming at her when she finally gazes up at my face.

Just as she goes to say something else, another tribute closer to the front bursts out shouting. Everyone; the pair from Eight and the couple in front of their chariot, peer over the edges to get a good look at the commotion at the front. Atarah stares at me with wide-eyes and I quickly lean back in.

"Don't worry, I just want to take a look."

The girl from Eight pulls up the front of her dress and steps out in time to me leaving my own chariot. Chessca would probably freak if she saw me breaking procedure right now, but it might be important.

"What do you think's going on?" I say loudly in no particular direction. The same girl from Eight glares back at me and shrugs her shoulders, stepping forwards just another few inches before coming to a complete halt.

I almost bump into her but stop myself in time, observing the scene in front. The careers are huddled round the chariot from Two, the boy from that district surrounded by the others all staring at him with mixed faces. None of them look too unhappy, the boy from One and girl from Four are happily smiling at him but he stands there like his face is about to explode. This can't be very good.

"-Lochlan, you don't have to be so dramatic. I simply fail to see why one such as yourself wouldn't think to join our alliance. The benefits-"

"-the benefits can kiss my-"

The girl from Four bursts out laughing, the other smiling career giggling uncontrollably as the boy, Lochlan I guess, turns around and barges past the boy from Four, nearly knocking him to the ground. Immediately every single non-career bolts back to their chariots. I guess it's easier to observe them when they're angry at each other rather than when they realise we're snooping in on them.

The girl from Eight jerks her body out of my way and I jog after her.

"See you!" I shout happily, bouncing back to my chariot and pulling myself on. Atarah raises an eyebrow and I shrug my shoulders in response, pulling a strand of grain up and twisting it around my chest area. I blush and she nervously laughs, a patch of skin revealing.

"Boy from Two, didn't look too happy."

"Why?"

I shrug my shoulders again and pat my chest, the bare skin finally covered up. The speaker's noise resounds around us all once more, this time a clear, crisp voice booming out and announcing we're about to set off. Atarah squeals a little, stepping away from the edge, her hip bashing into my side. She squeals again and I instinctively grab onto her hand, forgetting all codes about boundaries and the fact she's a girl and I'm a guy and what this might be construed as.

None of that matters. I like Atarah and people like her, the quiet ones who really shouldn't be scared, have always been people I've been inclined to open up. We don't have much time after all, this week is our last week for a sense of normalcy before we fight for our lives.

I have to make the most of what time I have left.

"If we hold hands, neither of us will fall off, alright?"

Her fingers lock round my own, as tight as possible and the metal doors in front slide open. She nods and I grip onto the sidebar with my free hand.

I take a deep breath, relaxing my arms and legs and ensuring I'm calm. If I'm not calm, how can I tell Atarah to be calm? It all comes back down to how I present myself, and the only way for Atarah to feel like she can be herself around me is if I'm myself around her.

The pair from Eight disappear into the flashing lights; there's a brief moment of nothing, not a single movement, and then we zip forwards. Our chariot, bounding along the pathway through the screams of a million.

* * *

**Raelyn Houchens, District Ten Female.**

* * *

"Bwark!"

My elbows bend in to my hips and I flap them up and down, yellow feathers spilling from my front. Alton shakes his head as he plays with his plastic orange beak, the strings a little too tight round his cheeks. I laugh to myself brightly, flapping as much as I can, playing the part to my fullest potential. It's fun, being a chicken. I'm no chicken personally but I liked playing with the little hatchlings at home and the mothers, pecking corn from the earth.

I miss home, and here I am dressed up in something I used to care for. I have to thank my stylist for her genius, fashion-centred mind when this is over!

"You could be a little less convincing," Alton mutters under his breath. "They're mocking us."

"Who? I don't see anyone mocking us." Alton's such a negative soul, he sucks me completely dry when all I'm attempting is a bit of positivity here. He acts like I'm the bane of his existence, always scorning my actions when I'm around, sarcastically biting back and nitpicking everything apart.

Well, what he doesn't know is that stress can be deadly, he should loosen up a bit or it'll kill him.

Unless, you know, the Hunger Games get to him first.

"We're dressed in yellow feathers, of course they're mocking us."

"I think we'll be complimented for really selling our District. Unlike whatever District Six is wearing. Chickens are cool!"I punch the air and bwark again, pecking the air blindly and shaking my hips. Alton rolls his eyes but that does nothing except fuel me further, I giggle and grab onto his hand, hitting it against his thigh and laughing triumphantly when he gives in and repeats the movements.

"If I act like a damn chicken will you leave me alone?" he grumbles, flapping his arms half-heartedly whilst the crowd roar on behind, in front and to the sides.

"No, but do it anyway!"

He mumbles something under his breath, but I don't waste my time straining to hear what's most likely an insult. I'm only doing this to help him, it's sad Alton only tries to put a damper on things, but I'm here to help him and anyone else from cheering up and living life brightly before they're killed. I don't plan on leaving this place alive. I don't want to die but realistically those tall, brick-built careers aren't exactly easy competition to bat aside.

If I die, then I go down knowing my life wasn't wasted. That even through the dark times, I saw something to smile about. I want to give Alton that brief moment of comfort, he doesn't deserve to go down thinking his life wasn't well lived.

"So Alton," I raise my voice when the crowd explodes into a ruckus. "Thought about allies yet?"

We start to slowly come to a halt, the chariot wheels stopping and the horses almost freezing in place. The mansion in front is magnificent, pillars and banners and all things majestic surrounding the establishment. The architecture is something to be in awe at. Alton elbows me in the side and points at the little man standing in front, high up from us all.

"Allies? Alton?"

The man begins speaking into something techy that projects his deep voice to this entire area. The other tributes crane their necks upwards but Alton looks at me, frowning.

"I don't know Raelyn, I need time to weigh up my options."

My face doesn't quite replicate the sudden disappointment that makes me feel. I'm not sure what I was expecting, but on some level, maybe I thought he would accept. Just because we're district partners. It goes without saying doesn't it? We stick together, I thought that was the unwritten rule of the Games.

I can't say such a thing though. It's his choice.

"Okay Alton," I smile and elbow him gently in the side.. "Whatever you decide is best for you."

He looks away at this and rests his attention on the President. I try to pick up on what he's saying but there's not really much to concentrate on. It's all the same, maybe worded differently every year, but still the same drama about the Games and how our sacrifice is something to be honoured.

I understand why the Games were put into place, but I don't like them. Never will. Alton briefly shows a momentary sign of anger, a shake in his elbow that's not something to fit the act of being a cute little chicken.

"It's okay, he'll shut up soon."

He shrugs his shoulders and thankfully, the President bids us all ado and the horses click into action immediately.

"Did you tend to horses in Ten? I did, the farm was pretty cramped with all the animals but it was fun. I wonder if these horses are cared for properly, I hope so."

Alton shrugs his shoulders again and I hold in a sigh, perplexed at his attitude. Sometimes, deep down I might ask why I bother when there's never any hope. But then I can't, because if I begin to believe that there are people who are beyond help then I lose myself and my beliefs.

My grandmother wouldn't want that, a woman battling through what she is, deserves to be believed in. If she can smile with death creeping up on her, then so can I.

"Time to get off." I look up just as the chariot grinds to a halt. The other tributes group up into districts: mentors, escort and stylist surrounding them all. The pair from One and Four plus the girl from Two spend a few more seconds together, before the only career not with them calls the girl over and they split apart.

Conan and Heidy help us both down and we congregate together. My stylist plucks a loose feather from my forehead and claps her hands together, red lips pulled back into a smile. Alton's stylist does the same but receives nothing in return, luckily for him Conan peels him away from his over-eager stylist who stands rather shocked, staring at his retreating back.

I would never do the same for anyone around me, not if I want to feel good about myself. Heidy congratulates me but I've come to realise her tone of voice only ever seems angry. I nod and thank her politely before turning to thank my stylist again.

Really, the chickens were perfect. If Ten was ever going to stand out then it was here, and we've finally accomplished it! It's always been cows and sheep, never chickens. Heidy grabs my hand and after shouting another quick thank you, we weave around the other groups until the pair of us reach the elevator.

"I hope you know, Alton won't be joining you."

My lips go immediately dry when I try to piece together a response. I knew he wouldn't, the choice was already made for him the moment I asked, he doesn't like me.

"Good for him, he should only ever do what he believes will help him."

If being away from me helps him, I can't fight against that. But there has to be someone here who will take me for me, because I'm not changing for anybody.

* * *

**Check out my profile if you haven't already for the link to a blog with all my victors. Some of them appeared in this chapter, others will continue to crop up as the chapters progress.**

**I enjoyed writing these six as well, probably why I'm actually sticking to my schedule. Although the tributes were fun to write, I feel like this chapter isn't the best. Whatever, I'll let you all decide that!**

_**Favourite from these six and why?**_

_**Favourite mentor from the blog?**_

_**Any potential alliances you see coming together?**_

**Next chapter moves us into training. See you all then!**


	5. Hope

**Hope.**

* * *

"_One lives in the hope of becoming a memory." - Antonio Porchia  
_

* * *

**Saskia deValier, District Two Female.**

* * *

Lochlan scowls the moment I pop my head round the door, peeping down the corridor. At the crack of dawn, Lochlan seems the type to glower and sulk around the place, meanwhilst I am very much up and ready for the day.

"Morning one and all!" I bounce along the carpet, my feet kicking up little tufts of cream fabric.

"You're certainly happy today Saskia, too much sugar last night?" Faustine smirks and pours herself a nice, steaming cup of hot chocolate. Lochlan's bed-hair is hilarious, the moment he plummets to his seat, I laugh and join next to him just to further irritate him.

He hates me, I generally don't care nor dislike him. He does what he does, I do what I do.

"Not enough Faustine. I'm just looking forward to training." I honestly am, part of the whole Saskia-deValier-package is a whole load of energy, people don't get nowhere sitting idly by, hating the world – people like Lochlan – and neither do they get by through hiding what they can do. There's more to arrogance than simply believing you're better, you have to be skilled to back it up. I know I'm better, why hide it?

"I certainly hope you're ready for the other careers. They won't take too kindly to you asserting yourself as leader in a matter of minutes." Faustine lowers the cup and stares at me, serious face now on. I admire her for her ability to drop one mask and put another one on. Tarquin is all work and no play, and Lochlan is neither of the two. Faustine and I are on the same wavelength, she knows that I like to have a little bit of an adventure and tease, and also remain constantly vigilant and aware of what my limits are, what's required of me, and what the ultimate goal is.

I nod and bite hungrily into some sort of weird twisted bread. Instantly, my mouth floods with sultanas and sugar and I grin, wolfing it down until the last few crumbs fall to the place mat. Lochlan rolls his eyes, Tarquin continues to read the Capitol's favourite newspaper, and Faustine and I lock onto one another.

"Well, me old pal Lochlan won't even be with us so that puts one person out of the picture," Tarquin briefly grunts, dissatisfaction flooding through the air at such a simple gesture. Neither two are happy, but I can't blame them for exactly being so disappointed. Part of the idea of having Training Academies is that we produce the best and a considerable amount of Victors. Two and Four are on equal numbers with not only each other but other Districts too, it's embarrassing that One is carrying the Career torch for us. Without them we'd probably be dropped down on the ranking, maybe an Academy or two taken from us. Really, I should be angry with Lochlan and the idiots who never bothered to volunteer. When I get home, maybe I can impart some of my actual wisdom on how things should be run.

Not saying these two aren't doing a bang-up job themselves, maybe it's that Valeria's fault. She's the complete opposite to Tarquin, too much fun and absolute no work whatsoever.

"The pair from One shouldn't be too difficult. Shine's been bragging that yet another girl from One will be taking home the prize, apparently Calliope has 'the whole package'," Faustine scoffs and I can't help but replicate such a notion. Seriously, the blonde girl from One? She's supposed to be worthy competition, she looks like the sluts who hang around street corners, not a potential Victor. If it's an angle, she's pulling it off well. "And the boy from One is just as bad as Val', he can't stop bouncing around the place. No I think you'll be fine there."

Lochlan leaves the table at that, without so much as a goodbye or a general acknowledgment of our existence. I salute his retreating back and Faustine's lip curls up. Training starts in a few hours but all three of us have been programmed over the years to wake up at such an early hour, I'm guessing the Clarington household is a lot more lenient on its bedtime hours. Early night, early morning. Though sometimes we go a few weeks without much sleep, helps us prepare for long days and short nights during the Games.

Sometimes I really do wonder why Two doesn't have all the Victors. We know what we're doing.

"I think Four will be the real problem. Megaera's a funny one, I haven't quite worked out what she's up to or if there is in fact some secret Megaera we're not seeing."

Megaera seemed to get along well with Alistair yesterday, especially before Lochlan exploded and stormed off in a tantrum. Maybe I can exploit that relationship, after all I'm not just experienced in how to use a weapon, I understand strategy and how to build up a steady game-plan. Tarquin and Faustine are both heavily induced into Training regime, Tarquin the master of all things intellectual and Faustine a bad-ass bitch with a blade. No, Megaera could be a real issue though. A nice little chew toy will keep Alistair calm, Calliope only needs a mirror and she'll be kept quiet, Megaera may need a little more convincing to step down and allow me to take leadership.

"Matteo on the other hand, he's a real charmer. He has the looks, the suave attitude, the I'm-so-amazing step to his walk. He's more leader than Megaera, though she has the potential to be a right bitch when it comes to organising the pack's structure. Mastermind, do you have any suggestions?"

Tarquin from the other end of the table, grunts and pokes his nose over the grey smattering of text. A blazing fire burns from the rather drab tabloid, some sort of disaster in the central square.

Interesting stuff, won't help me win though.

He clears his throat and looks straight at me, dark stormy eyes narrowing. "I do not suggest Saskia takes the role of leader."

Cutlery jangles, a bread rolls falls to the carpet and an Avox dives to catch a falling glass. Faustine's temper is another thing unrivaled, Tarquin the fool, has decided to unleash it.

"What the hell do you mean? You're off your rocker."

As much as I'm confused about his proposal, I can't help but debate his advice. The issue with District Four isn't something that's going to go away just because I want it to. Those two are going to be the catalysts that explode the Pack from within, if I'm the leader that might result in...

"I agree." I state, smiling gently in the direction of a bright red Faustine. Her grip relaxes for a brief moment, then her eyes narrow and she groans.

"I'm sorry Faustine. I'm better than Four, we both know that, but let's allow them to kill themselves off when they decide the Pack is too much for them."

Tarquin nods and resumes reading. There's no smile or smirk of pride, but I know it's there within those eyes. He picked me out as a sixteen year old volunteer for a reason, I don't doubt his decision for a moment.

"The Pack relies on a strong leader, but its members have to be resolved in dedicating themselves to ensuring it remains together. Megaera is too unreliable, and Matteo has the potential to be a right pain in the ass. I say, let Meg be leader and watch her tear it to pieces, hopefully taking down blondie from One, Matteo and herself." Faustine's face dulls down to a pasty white again, and she nods. "I'll take care of Alistair, he won't be hard to pick off."

I don't doubt this plan for a second, I can't. Doubt leads to possible problems arising in the future, and I already have such a problem in the form of District Four. I'll play along, smile and train to protect them, but it won't stop me from driving a knife in their back when it comes down to it. Six careers – or five in this case – volunteer to be in the Hunger Games, and we all know only one can leave alive. I don't doubt for a second that it will be me, my victory's been inevitable from the moment I picked up a sword.

* * *

**Ward Bingham, District Six Male.**

* * *

The moment the Head Trainer instructs us to form a circle, I take a back step and observe. Fear is a predominant emotion amongst them all, some are easier at hiding it than others, some not so much. There's a twitch here and there, a sweaty forehead or bunched up fist tapping away at their side. I note them all, eying everyone who could my potential murderer, potential victim or potential companion in this Game.

The Head Trainer is brusque and crude in his approach, everything he says I absorb and pay attention to. Though there's no real point in putting much stock into his advice. His role is pure intimidation, make the careers and their arrogance swell, whilst we non-careers are swept aside and realise that this isn't our game whatsoever.

Tatum looks over at me for a brief moment, the Trainer calling out each different station in turn. She doesn't smile but there's nothing hostile either, I nod curtly and turn back to face the man in front. I have no problem with Tatum, or anyone here for that matter, but nobody came here to make friends and have a good chat. Being here is the last thing I want, but it's foolish to wish otherwise when there's nothing you can do about your fate. I've accepted the fact I could die, but I'm going to do all I can to ensure such a thing doesn't happen.

If it does, it does. If it doesn't, then it's because I didn't try to sugarcoat anything. Everyone here, from the boy from Seven smiling and coddling his little district partner, to the boy from Four, staring at the front with the traces of a smirk on his face. They all have the possibility of becoming a killer, and so do I.

"Spend your time wisely, you may go."

He flourishes his hands and we part, the careers already gathering together and the others splitting by themselves. I do the same and immediately point out a station to the far left, bits of wood and rope spread around a mat.

Next to it, I see the glint of a machete and note that down somewhere in the back of my mind. Whilst I've been bombarded by the most superficial of beings since I stepped off that train, I've been strategising how this is all going to pan out. First of all, survival skills are a must have. Anyone can pick up a weapon and at least attempt to hack at their opponent, if you don't know what you're doing when it comes to making a fire or shelter, then there's no way you're going to actually have a shot at doing such a thing.

"Greetings." The little trainer claps his hands together when I reach the station and grins at me. He barely reaches my chest in height but that doesn't deter him from closing the gap and reaching for me. I brush him off and take a seat on the mat, the sticks and rope and everything else required to make a shelter laid out in front of me. He looks defeated when I stare back up at him expectantly, his chest deflates and he steps back to his initial place.

I don't understand these Capitol folk, their weird mannerisms and tendency to overstep boundaries. It's not something I'm very welcoming to, neither here or in Six, it makes me uncomfortable and detracts from anything I'm attempting to achieve. Today being training for the Hunger Games.

"Would you mind doing your job and showing me how to build a basic shelter?" I ask, courteously. He narrows his eyes, like I've done something wrong, and nods his head. The moment he bends down on his knees and picks up two of the thicker lumps of wood, I hear footsteps behind me before the gentle thud of someone landing on the mat to my left.

I make no sound to give away my disappointment, and turn to face the new arrival. The trainer immediately resumes his jovial self and steps up to the new face, the boy from Five. Cynder, I believe his name to be, waves him off just as quickly as I stepped aside and smiles in my direction.

"Bit clingy isn't he?" he jokes, the trainer hearing every word and growing a deep shade of scarlet. There's nothing to really say in response, it's not so much a question than it is a general statement to this absurd trainer's behaviour. Though he is here for a reason, that I'd rather know sooner than later.

"Was there something you needed?"

He exhales a short, breathless laugh and picks up a twig from the mat. "We're allowed to train where we want? Or did I miss that bit?"

"Yes, I just assumed tributes weren't necessarily going to go up to a station occupied unless they were aiming to arrogantly show off their skills, something reserved for the careers usually, or to ask something."

Out the corner of my eye, I see the trainer walk off to the nearby station. Abandoning his post is unprofessional but I doubt it really matters right now, my mind's wandered off from shelter to this strange young man.

"That's true, but maybe I'm not scared of people and don't mind sharing a station."

"I'm not scared of people," I raise my voice a tad to stress my point and Cynder simply shakes his head and laughs again.

"Prove it."

I open my mouth, a word, question or something trying to form in my head. When nothing does I close it again and look down for a brief moment. What does he mean prove it?

"Prove you're not scared of people, Ward Bingham from District Six."

"What do you mean?" My entire strategic basis for training has gone out the window, my mind now completely perplexed and curious at this person's attitude. Really, I didn't come down here to speak to anyone unless it was completely necessary. It would probably be in my best interest if I stood up and left right now, leaving Cynder to his own devices and try to find a spot more secluded away from petty distraction. I am not scared of people, I've just never been so good at opening up to others. It's difficult for some people, whereas there are others who tend to find that characteristic odd. I wonder where Cynder stands.

"Be my ally. I think that'll prove you aren't scared of people."

I blanch, mind reeling. Allies? Already...?

"Training only started five minutes ago, it's certainly very early to already be creating alliances when you've had no time to scout out those with skills."

Cynder scratches his head and nods, the twig he picked up twirling between the fingers of his other hand. He places it back down quickly and shrugs his shoulders.

"I think you're the right ally to have, call it intuition."

He extends his hand, face serious but a certain gentle touch to the light smile and the way he looks at me. I'm not sure, I've never been sure about the idea of someone approaching me out the blue and asking me things about myself or to help them with something. It's not me, but with Cynder and where I am, the situation is different.

I don't have to like him after all, and within a week myself, him, or both of us could be dead. There doesn't have to be a connection larger than an alliance that mutually benefits its members. Maybe it can work.

"Alright," I meet his hand and shake it once, affirming my position. "I'll be your ally."

* * *

**Ada Bertrand, District Three Female.**

* * *

"I feel bad for her, maybe we should go up and say hi."

The obsessive girl from Ten continues to prattle next to me, this particular time her eyes gazing over attentively on the blonde-haired, sprightly girl from Five who appears surprisingly downtrodden. I follow her trail of sight and notice her District partner engaging with the pale guy from Six.

A single tear reflects back the light and I stare sullenly at her, a prickle of sorrow somewhere within my chest. I don't know her, I don't care much for her or her situation, but there's a tiny amount of sympathy I can shed. She must have thought they were allies, and as quickly as they cemented such a friendship, he took that hope from her.

Maybe that's why I want this bubbly, irritating young girl to leave me be. Maybe I'm just worried of her not liking me if I attempted such a thing as a proper conversation.

I twiddle the berry between my fingers, focusing on the teary-eyed girl, then back on Raelyn Houchens, who frowns and stares at me. Her face is covered from chin to forehead in bright, blue berry juice. A giggle passes her lips and she scrapes a gloop off, licking it tentatively and swallowing it whole. Thankfully, those aren't poisonous. Otherwise the consequences could be... well, what we're about to face real soon.

"Do you want to move on Ada?" Raelyn pokes me in the knee and laughs, squeezing a berry between her fingers. More juice splays up and she continues to fidget besides me. If anything I want her to leave and move on, why she's so imperative in the fact that I'm the ally for her, I can't fully understand. Out of the blue she hopped on up to me and proposed that we become friends... not allies, but friends. And I only stared at her, shrugged my shoulders and bolted back to where I've been since the morning.

It's not that I find Raelyn naïve, I just find her unrealistic. She's smiley, too smiley. Her happy-go-lucky nature is reminiscent of a past life only one of us can return to. I'm adamant that I have the potential to achieve victory if I focus one-hundred percent of my attention, and personally that doesn't stretch so far as to accept a person such as Raelyn. She's a nice girl, chirpy and sweet, but like a little toddler screaming in your ear for attention.

She only takes my cold, distant approach as affirmation that we are friends. In what world that constitutes as friendship I'll never know, but unless I'm direct in saying no she'll never leave me. And I can't do that, because I don't want to hurt her feelings, I'm not cruel like the boy from Five.

"Girl, are you positive that these are the berries that are fatal, and these are the-" I look up at the trainer's Capitol drawl, then watch with silent amusement when her mouth circles and eyes glide over the mess Raelyn has made. I don't condone immature behaviour, and Raelyn didn't do it to spite the Capitol, but her reaction earns a twitch from my lip.

"I'm super sorry Miss." Raelyn giggles with a horrified expression, mixed with an amused one. She manages to somehow pull off such extremes of emotion, something I've never been good at, and gets away with gently touching the world around her. The trainer sternly berates her, but when the mess is cleared up and I receive a perfect score, I see the same smile on her face when Raelyn hoists me up by the shoulders.

There are people like Raelyn in this world, and people like me. I've just got to try and not let her get to me, if I do that then things will be alright. I'll remain comfortable in my own skin and Raelyn can proceed to light up the world like the chipper little chipmunk she so proudly seems to be.

"Where next Ada?"

I stand still for a brief second, observing each station. The careers are milling around the weapons stationed, ogling the others as expected. The girl from Four briefly gazes over me and I avert eye contact immediately. It's better if I don't provoke some sort of reaction out of them, staying under the radar is the only chance I have and inciting a fight with such a person will only snatch such hope from me.

The weaponry stations on the other side remain unoccupied. A multitude of small silver objects, such as knives for throwing and stabbing purposes, along with other blades and knick-knacks attract my attention. Raelyn already begins bounding along towards the stocky young woman, like she can read my mind.

"Dibs on the knife!"

I roll my eyes, the trainer chortling as Raelyn picks up one of the hundred knives littering the shelf.

"I think there are plenty of knives little one." The trainer sweeps her fringe and adjusts the way Raelyn's fingers curve round the handle.

"I'm sixteen I'll have you know," she dramatically sighs and stamps her foot, proceeding to completely mess up her grip again and throwing the knife at the target. The trainer shrieks and I watch, once again with amusement, at the knife soaring above the spot her forehead was seconds ago.

Someone laughs to my side, the girl from Twelve clutching a sword in her hand and going for the target. I immediately look away. _No more Ada. _

Raelyn is enough for me.

Does that mean I want her as my ally? Am I willing to open myself enough for the chance at being with someone in the Arena?

"Raelyn," I call, my volume barely above a whisper. She catches it and turns to face me, the trainer shrieking at her for yet again failing at another station. This has next to no effect on her, which only adds to my need to be with her. She doesn't care what anyone has to say, words slide of her skin like protective armour is shielding her from harm.

If only I was so confident, so pleased with who I am.

"Yeah Ada? Did you see my knife," she slaps her knee and guffaws. "I don't think I'm cut out for this fighting stuff, you know. Ah well."

I continue to stare at her, the request or... statement, whatever it is, creeping up my throat but dancing at the tip of my tongue. This will be me opening myself up, allowing vulnerability and the chance to care too much for another person. What if it ruins any shot I have...?

What if it saves me?

"Raelyn, I'd like to be your..." Ally? That's what I want, but it's not what she asked. She saw something in me, something no one else probably does. Tyndall doesn't understand, neither does Dessa or Adelie. I shouted at Dessa because I was angry, and I apologised because I don't like to be rude towards people. But Raelyn, she smiles and laughs and cheers. The kind of things I want to do.

I need someone like that.

"I'd like to be your friend."

Whether it works out, that doesn't matter. Here and now's what counts, maybe I can learn to be me without caring, maybe I actually stand a chance at loving me for me.

* * *

**Calliope Cartier, District One Female.**

* * *

"A little bit of input would be nice Calliope," Saskia sneers, pulling up her sword. Her eyes dart between myself and Alistair, who per usual stands twiddling a piece of his shaggy brown hair, staring off into the distance with wild bemusement. Alistair is amusing, somewhat of a distraction from the seriousness of what this entire procedure entails.

"Hey, earth to blondie." The clicking of her fingers draws me away from my District partner and I turn to face the girl from Two, who smiles at me. What are they asking of me? To decide who should be leader? Saskia for whatever, unearthed reason, decided to step down and allow Four debate it between them. Something's up with Saskia, but there's always something up with everyone, little lies here and there that especially careers know how to work into anyone.

Four can have the role of leadership, the position leads to more trouble than its worth.

"I honestly do not mind Saskia," I state calmly and politely. The girl rolls her eyes and lets the sword hang limp, sharp edge glistening in the overhanging light. The other tributes have decided to stay well away from whatever area we're occupying; a good choice on their behalf. None of them have any clue whatsoever about what we careers know, and I'm not one for mercifully giving them a chance. I take what I can, after all volunteering wasn't for me to just give up and die. I'm not here to necessarily take a life, but I'm not here to let a bunch of children escape from a fate they unfortunately had no say in.

"That mean's the draw is tied. Myself voting for Megaera, Alistair voting for Matteo. Come on Calliope, make the call!" She grows flustered for a second, pretty little face blossoming bright red.

Honestly I've no idea what plots and plans brew in all their arrogant heads. Megaera only smiles brightly when a question or conversational topic is directed her way, and Matteo ever the speaker only engages positively with whoever steps up to initiate a discussion. Although, I find that endearing, he's only one of those classic careers smiling to hide a sinister truth.

I've watched too much Hunger Games to let myself fall for the standard traps these types of people set; though if they're so oblivious to what other careers can do that makes it all the better for me to get one over them.

As I've always been, I'm not here to make friends. I'm here to stand still, apparently play the pretty blonde without the necessary naivety to the role, and kill.

Matteo chuckles deeply and wraps an arm round Meg's neck. Her eyes narrow for a split-second, something only I manage to pick up on since I'm well tuned into observing the smallest of details, but they relax and she squeezes into his friendly gesture.

"Come on Calli', we need your help here. Meg's all well and good," he squeezes her gently and laughs, the other girl only grinning wider and sinking deeper into his side. "But it's me you want."

I keep a blank face, betraying nothing of the emotion that races through my head. Honestly, I want neither. Matteo's charisma is charming, Megaera's warm-hearted nature positive and welcoming, but I don't want them. I don't want Saskia either, she's a little devil waiting to take out those in her way.

I'm not here to pick and prod at their personalities, or tell them what they're doing wrong. All that I keep well within my system and let it grow, occupying my thoughts but staying within. My own judgmental attitude is none of their concern. I've been on the receiving end of cruel words and that's only built up my barriers to the point of me holding off such outside forces.

"Come on Matteo you big meanie, let's allow Calli' to choose for herself."

I could be quick and easy with my decision, this is painful standing idly by and not training for what we actually volunteered to do. In a sense, there's a mild fascination in watching them prickle and heat up at my indecisiveness.

Let's have a bit of fun, I think.

"I vote Alistair," I plaster a smirk on my face, the first real act of anything other than calmness I allow to show to the others. Matteo bursts out laughing, but it's the reactions of the two girls that really pique my interest. At last, a little honestly pouring through the cracks.

Alistair blinks and turns at me, stunned into silence.

"Huh?" his lovely little eyelids open and close, rapidly blinking as he stares between the four of us. They settle on me at last and his mouth curls into a lopsided grin, pure innocence radiating from his face. He's adorable in a sense, the only person here I truly believe isn't holding malicious thoughts away from the group.

"I said, I vote Alistair."

He scratches his head, not quite understanding it yet. Of course, Alistair is incompetent when it comes to this sort of stuff. Megaera, Saskia and Matteo all have ulterior motives and hidden agendas but I suppose they're actually good at what they do. Me, I refuse to put myself forward when there's already two candidates holding off from ripping the other to shreds over this position. Alistair is a more appealing option.

"You've got to be kidding me," Saskia says, sighing and rolling her eyes. Alistair blinks again and shakes his head, mumbling something under his breath.

"Oh no no no Calli'. I can't be the leader. I voted for Matteo."

"That's true you know," the boy from Four quickly inputs, stepping back when I turn to stare at him. He smiles awkwardly and stares down at Megaera. Her face has taken a rather hilarious red tone, her ears an impressive brightness.

Whatever, I know how these three work. I'll drop it for now.

"Fine, sorry Alistair I was only kidding." I turn to face the two from Four, waiting giddily for my judgment. Either choice is horrendous, either leads to catastrophe for us. Doesn't matter, I'll be out of their reach before it all collapses in on itself.

"Matteo," the boy's face swells up and he steps forwards, expecting the best. "I don't choose you."

The moment his chest deflates, Megaera beams and skips towards me, enveloping me in a hug.

"I choose Megaera."

Honestly at this point, what's the use in all this? I'm here to kill them all, whoever decides to lead this alliance doesn't change that fact. Nothing can, nothing will.

* * *

**Sabrina Calladine, District Eleven Female.**

* * *

The three vials are placed linear on the fold out mat, equal distance between them. Varying liquids shimmer within the glass: one a purely transparent, one murky white and one jet blue.

"Which one produces the quickest death?" I ask breathlessly. My chest burns from over-exertion, apparently bows and arrows aren't designed for easy usage. Who knew?

I laugh to myself, it took a lot of skill to be overly bad at pulling a string and shooting an arrow. I'm pretty sure my own actual aim is perfectly average, but wrapping my fingers round one end the wrong way, loading the arrow incorrectly and holding back real embarrassment in savour of fake embarrassment, is a pretty tough task and act to pull off.

All I have to remember is it's for the good of myself, the worse the others see me, the higher my chances are of making it out the bloodbath alive. It wasn't an act I was going to truly cling onto, I'm not the wildest, most vicious girl around but I can hold my own. Though the moment I instinctively burst out crying at the reaping, it was either turn my public image around and paint a huge target on my back, or play up on that and continue to be portrayed as the average, annual weak tribute from Eleven.

Whatever helps me win, I suppose.

"All three can be applied by injection, however quickest way is through consumption. One drop of all three will provide death within mere minutes, it's the transparent one," the trainer gives the vial a gentle tap, a ripple shuddering the surface, "that kills your victim in less than thirty-six seconds. Pretty deadly."

Poison, a woman's weapon I've heard. All the boys are so into their heroic and foolish acts of swinging a sword and competing with one another. I truly do believe that there are quicker, and cleaner ways of dispatching of someone. Not that I'm a killer, I've never thought about taking a life until I was on that train and my blurry eyes and shattering mind finally started to cease and patch itself up. I may be one to show off, hence the reason it's so difficult to not rectify my previous mistakes with weaponry, but I'm not here to cause too much suffering.

Thirty-six seconds is good enough for me, not a drop of blood either.

"Does it cause much pain?"

The trainer lady sighs, like I've disappointed her with the question. I knew these people were sadistic, but seriously? I only keep a steady gaze, not a smile or frown, and wait for her response. She picks up the transparent poison's vial and swirls it around, her eyes maliciously following each and every turn the deadly liquid makes. It's fascinating and totally insane how these Capitolites can be so invested in such morbid topics, though the Hunger Games only make sense when you couple it with their sadism.

"If you're going for a painless death, poison shouldn't be your first option. Though this produces a quick and clean death, your victim will suffer for around twenty or so seconds. The poison produces internal bleeding on a massive scale, impressive for such a dainty little thing, don't you think?"

I mumble something, hoping to satiate her bloodlust and move on as quickly as possible. There's only so much time I can spend around person, soon they dry any enthusiasm or interest I have in whatever it is we're doing. I suppose the same could be said for my fellow tributes, all of them from the careers pompously ambling around the room, strutting their stuff and showing off, to the non-careers attempting to piece together some sort of meaningless hope that they have a chance.

All of them aren't people I can associate myself with, part of the whole distancing process that will help block out all sense of connection with people who have to die for my survival, and also the fact none of them look worth my time. They're either too quiet, too loud or too babyish. If it takes my poison, maybe a dart or something to shoot from a distance if it comes down to that, to push myself through the competition than it's imperative I forget the fact that these are... human beings. I'm not a bad person. _I'm not. _But this is something I have to do.

"What do you suggest is another alternative to poison that provides a clean but merciful death?"

"Well," she sighs, _again, _"there's strangulation, it's not too painful, however the torture is in the person feeling their life fade from their bodies. Look, kid I'll be frank with you. The ways that keep the blood from falling are usually the ways that hurt the most. Sure you can gut someone slowly, disembowel, cut them apart limb from limb, all that's much worse and takes forever. But an arrow to the head, a knife through the throat, blood is all part of the Game and those sort of methods are the only way you're going to get that painless death you're going for."

I frown, the first time I show her some sort of emotion regarding the topic of killing. The left side of her mouth curls up and she puts the vials back into the tray by her side. "Honestly, you're only a little girl. Doesn't mean much when it comes to your chances, little can work well for you, but when that gong goes off and you're running for your life to gather as much supplies as possible but to also avoid being on the receiving end of another tribute's weapon, a vial of poison is a lot harder to spot than a sword or spear. Think it over."

She places her hand on my shoulder, comfortingly... maybe? It's hard to tell. It instantly makes me feel awkward, the gesture disturbing to say the very least. I allow her to carry through with it and manage to plaster a weak grin on my face, just to show her I can be appreciative. Fake, of course. I don't care for her, only her knowledge, but whatever gets her away from me now.

I'm done here.

I bid her a quick goodbye and stand up, doubling back to the arrows but continuing swiftly onwards to the rack of swords. The careers stand only a few stations to my right; the girl from Four catches my eye and winks. Not wanting to waste an opportunity, I let my face crease and shiver, absorbing the act of terror and listen to her laugh.

I'm not strong enough to tackle a career head-on, but smarts can be better than brawn. A strategy deadlier than a sword if in the right hands. How I kill, depends on the situation, but my own survival is possible if I try hard enough to outsmart the people who believe they have it all, those trying hard to hope, and those giving up completely.

It is a game after all, I've always been good at games.

* * *

**Graeden Peltz, District Seven Male. **

* * *

The descending sun casts an orange glow through the glass window. I smile and draw my fingers through the sparkle of artificial light the skyscrapers beam through. Swirls of dust are caught in the glow and I trace them along with my fingers, mesmerized at the brief beauty sunset brings.

It fills me up from head to toe, a warmth tingling every nerve and I relax into the plush, velvet cushions of the couch. Soon, the radiance vanishes and night sweeps through the city. In mere moments it will burst alive in fireworks, explosions of colour and noise as the Capitolites celebrate the Hunger Games.

Celebrate us, and our arriving demise. In a world such as ours, people only expect pain, and that's all they feel. I see a different side, the party-goers aren't as bad as we make them out to be. Only delusional, and all that takes is for the delusion to be eradicated. The Hunger Games won't last forever.

"Daydreaming?" The quiet but stern voice cuts through the haze and I smile brightly up at Delphine, Tirzah's mentor who throws herself into the opposite armchair. Her hair is disheveled, frayed at the edges and eyes blue-rimmed. She isn't in the best of shapes for her age, though I'm sure she'll pull through. People usually do.

"Admiring the view," I tilt my head in the direction of the window cast behind the television set, stretching from the carpet to the ceiling, a sheet of glass for us to admire. Delphine chuckles lowly and sweeps her tattered fringe from her eyes.

"Not much of a view, there are better things to admire."

I shake my head, adamant, never letting go of this warmth inside my chest. "I disagree. Say what you will about the Capitol, you can't deny the beauty of the city."

"You see beauty, I see deceit and evil."

"Let's agree to disagree," I smirk, squeezing up to one of the feathery cushions. Oren soon arrives, joining Delphine on the arm of her chair. She shrinks under his intense gaze, the only person able to cut through her wall and it's the very tribute who she mentored to victory. Oren is my mentor, technically, and whilst there's never anything in a person you can't fix with a little bit of dedication, he's unsettling.

As Victor of the first ever Quarter Quell, he went through hell and came out burning. His new skin is realistic, you'd almost believe it was him if it wasn't for the pictures you saw before his Games, you can tell the difference only slightly. He was a criminal, voted in because of his actions. No one knows why he did what he did, only that he can't keep a straight face, laughing randomly and coddling anyone he comes into contact with.

There's a thin line between comfort and creepiness. I do my best to manage that boundary, Oren fails to see.

"Your Tirzah's a real killjoy, tried talking to her about her day and she only mumbled and walked to her room."He snickers and places a firm hand on Delphine's shoulder. I see the confliction in her eyes and a lurch in my chest urges me to bat him away and protect her. Impulsiveness isn't my thing, but when it comes to people like Delphine relenting under the gaze of someone who should look up to them, protect them... it's uncomfortable.

"She's a nice girl, just a bit troubled," she mumbles. I smile at her and stand up, working my way across the milky carpet and towards the pair of them. I'm tall, but not as tall as Oren. The moment he grins broadly and steps up to meet me, he towers over me, looming like a giant. I don't like fear, but it's hard right now not to feel a twitch in my face.

"Got a problem buddy?" he tenses, though the smile is rooted into his expression. Over his shoulder I see an Avox getting to work on our dinner, hurrying around and scrubbing things down. I make a mental note to clean up straight after dinner tomorrow, it's not fair they're forced to slavery for what are probably the most menial of actions. Rebellion, they call it. I only see it as a step in the right direction.

"No problem Oren," I laugh brightly and place my own hand on his shoulder, broad, rock-hard like a block of concrete. "Just wondered if you wanted to chat about my own day, leave Tirzah to herself."

Poor Tirzah, I tried comforting her today, even offered an alliance and she only muttered something and wandered off. She's a nice girl, but like Delphine said, she's troubled. We all know the Ovata family, we know of their secret little daughter who only comes out on reaping day.

Oren makes a joke of it, Delphine and I try to work her out her shell. It'll only help when it comes to survival.

"Sure pal," he takes a seat on the arm of the chair, attention now completely gone from Delphine. I see the slight nod in her head and smile gently. I only do what I know is right, no thanks is necessary.

"So," he clasps his hands together, clapping out loud. "Made any new friends?"

The way he says friends is chilling, something he'll never know or understand. A concept lost to such a person. I wish I could help him, somehow, but I doubt there's much I could do for someone like him.

"I'm in the process of looking for someone. I asked Tirzah but she's not up for it, give it tomorrow and I'll have an alliance."

Oren's shoulders bob up and down, the chair shaking with his weight. "Oh Graeden. You're so cute," he makes a high-pitched, almost baby-like squeak and bursts out laughing. "For a tribute, you're too happy."

"For a victor, the same could be said of you."

Oren straightens his back and for a second, his eyes narrow and lips purse. But the same shift in everything he does wipes his face clean, and then his skin lights up, face blossoms and he leaps up, enveloping me in a rib-crushing embrace.

"Good luck tomorrow, Grady. I'm off to bed."

He rubs Delphine's scalp with his knuckles, and off he goes, disappearing round the corner. Delphine immediately releases the most pent-up breath I think she's ever had to hold, or I've ever seen. The pair of us exchange something without need for words and then together, we start giggling. It's short-lived, sleep calling me. But it means something, laughter always has.

Maybe I'm being silly, pinning my hopes on the idea that there's such a thing as taking the Game seriously but without having to lose a sense of humanity, where you can still joyfully laugh and smile. Perhaps that is foolish, a pipe dream. But it's all I have, the ability to smile and see the good in others. I can't lose that, it's the one part of me the Hunger Games won't kill, the one part that will stay true, even when I've been forced to move on.

* * *

**Apologies for the late update, no real excuse except I put this off until later in the week. Hopefully I can go back to writing regularly and keeping with my weekly schedule. Training's begun, alliances are coming together. Over the next two chapters the rest will form and they'll be posted on the blog.**

**For now, we have:**

**The Careers (excluding Lochlan)  
Ada and Raelyn  
Cynder and Ward**

**Questionsss!**

_**Favourite out of the six and why?**_

_**As of now, who in the career pack do you see making it the furthest?**_

**Curious really for that last question, the answers won't mean anything for the actual outcome. Next chapter will be the first half done, all tributes with a POV and I can set up a poll. Next up: Training Day Two!**


	6. Trust

**Trust.**

* * *

"_You can fool some of the people all of the time, and all of the people some of the time, but you can not fool all of the people all of the time." - Abraham Lincoln_

* * *

**Tatum Caville, District Six Female.**

* * *

I join the entourage gathered round the kitchen table; mentors and escort on one side, and Ward and I paired up on the other. I pretend to ignore the stares sent my way, Giselle the dopey Capitolite mainly glaring in my direction.

I don't care, Giselle. I don't care if my hair is a mess, if my eyes are red and cheeks tear-stained. Maybe it's because I'm a tribute... maybe because I know I'm going to die.

I bottle this all up and keep a grim face, staring at a random bread roll on the verge of tipping from an overfilled bowl. Idle chit-chat breaks the silence which I'm thankful for, the awkwardness slowly starts to slip at a gradual pace and I begin my own breakfast.

If there's one thing I can appreciate about who I'm with, it's the fact I'm left alone by most of the party. Ward rarely speaks unless a question is directed his way, save for a few general comments. Morgan is a peaceful loon, but the tranquility she transmits is serene, in the midst of this anger and confusion she gives me a sense of normalcy. Denley is childish but he's loyal to Ward and ignores me out of duty to his own tribute. It's Giselle that makes my blood boil, my heart pulsate and head throb with agony as I fight the harshness I want to throw at her.

If I look bad, like I do this very second, she'll let me know about it. The woman has no boundaries, she feeds on breaking me down and I refuse to give her that satisfaction. She can see the results of tears, but she'll never see them fall.

"I hope today you'll seek someone to partner up with, Tatum." Giselle's voice grates on my ears and I clench my fists, teeth gritting. Please, Giselle. Please leave me alone.

I look up at her and try to send this message through the narrowing of my eyes. She only sighs and runs a hand through her cotton candy hair. "I'm sure Ward wouldn't mind you joining with him and Cindy."

"Cynder, his name is Cynder." Ward mumbles, turning the spoon in his porridge. I bite back a laugh at that, just because Giselle sends me raging doesn't mean I don't appreciate these moments, the moments when I can smile. I nudge Ward with my elbow. He doesn't look up at me but he's worked me out by now. He knows I'm smiling at him through such a simple gesture.

"Ward already said yesterday that his alliance is full. If I'm going to have an alliance, it won't be with them. I respect his choice." Unlike you Giselle, you just want to throw yourself into any situation you can get your polished little hands on.

I open my mouth, venom building up and ready to scream at her, when I feel the same bump in my arm. Ward stares out the corners of his eyes at me, barely twisting his body in my direction. At that moment, the fire dulls down and I exhale, the anger pouring out of me. I can't let them get to me, not now, not if I want to make it far.

I'm just scared... so scared. And no one seems to care about that, they all just smile and act like life is happy and something to cheer about. Morgan and Denley got to hold onto their lives, I could lose mine, and for me to live Ward has to die. I like Ward, and those other tributes... as hard as it is to connect with them, or understand why some of them are so open and free about themselves, I don't want to kill them. I can't kill them.

They're people, teenagers. Like me... like me...

The silence settles again, this time I bite my tongue and hold back the beginning of a new wave of tears. All they see is my anger at them, Giselle screeching at me anytime I backchat her or speak my mind, but they barely see this side to me. Except my red eyes, they don't know. Morgan's too oblivious, Giselle too uptight, Denley too ignorant.

What's my humanity compared to entertainment?

"May I be excused?" my voice comes out weak and fazes out at the end of the question. _Great Tatum, show her what she wants._ Morgan smiles at me calmly and nods her head, but it's Giselle's whose face goes a shade matching her hair.

"I think not young lady, you haven't finished breakfast and we have much to discuss."

_Don't Tatum, don't. Anger isn't you, you think it is, you use it to protect you... but it isn't. It isn't._

"Bite me!" I throw my bowl on the floor and push my chair back. It shatters immediately, my breakfast pooling out in a grainy puddle of tasty mush. Giselle screams but I ignore that, her agonizing pitch a tickle in my ear. I place a hand on Ward's shoulder for a split second and run. There's no need, but I run anyway. The faster I get away from them all, the better.

"Tatum!" Giselle's final shout cuts off when my door slams into the frame. It shudders once before going still, the noise from breakfast now completely gone, only the screaming in my head circling round and round, hurting me. I grab my head and throw myself onto my mattress, sinking into the sheets.

I don't like this feeling, the feeling of wanting to rip apart Giselle, not knowing when I'm going to die but knowing it will happen, the anger of no one understanding, pretending like this isn't happening. All off it's a whirlwind inside my brain and there's not one thing I can do to stop it, either death... or victory. And I doubt victory even stops this.

I feel around the sheet, prodding the wet patch and sigh into the warm fabric. I'm fed up of this, even before I was reaped I was an emotional wreck, never knowing how to act or how to stop what I was doing. The Games are the personification of a lack of control, a journey that is now my fate, but a journey I can't know the outcome of. I can guess, the odds are pretty much in favour of the same consequence. But there's the alternative, a shred of a possibility.

If I can hold onto that, is that enough?

Giselle might be right about one thing, for me to gain support and have someone to fight this battle with, I can't tear them apart before I've even got to speak to them. I'll never piece back together how I used to be, when it was easy and hard all meshed into one. But... maybe I can do something right, maybe I can find someone.

Ward's not a possibility, so I need someone else. Company could calm me down, and I liked the peace Morgan gave me, it gave me time to think. Giselle won't get my thanks but maybe I can take her advice... there might be hope for me yet.

* * *

**Alistair Tempest, District One Male.**

* * *

Calliope finishes tying the knot in the rope and steps back to admire her work. I grin proudly at it and watch her change the way she stands, pulling the knife from her belt and holding it steady. She's so good at everything, I wish I could be more like her.

"The trick Alistair is to move with the knife, curve your body and follow through quickly. Hesitation can knock your aim off a few inches and your target could get away, or leave with only a minor injury." I nod eagerly at this and pick my own knife from the assortment laid out. Calliope seems off-putted by the dummies already set up for us and wanted to try and create her own, more realistic scenario. She set the trap, caught the dummy and now here it is, hanging for our attention.

"Like this?" I hold out my hand and shove it in her face. She bats it away quickly and stares at me, wide-eyed. For a second my heart plummets and my smile drops completely. "Calli', I'm sor-"

She grins again, a gentle smirk barely noticeable but a smile nonetheless. "Just be careful, watch the knife at all times, you nearly got me in the eye."

I nod and try to lock away the disappointment squirming inside of me. Calliope straightens her back and I copy it, holding my knife now at a more reasonable and safer angle. She said it was best we practiced long range because neither of us had that much experience as opposed to close combat. I haven't had the most experience in anything but I've learnt enough, volunteering would have been silly if I didn't know what I was doing after all.

Calliope's an enigma, one minute she's with me and smiling, and the next she's glaring over at the others in our gang and all of that is wiped clean. I've made it my mission to lighten her up and be the friend she probably never had. I've seen it in a lot of people, that blank, glossed-over expression in their eyes. People get that when they've been hurt or don't trust the world around them. I conquered as much of my own personal demons as I could and here I am: stupidly grinning at a harsh world. Calliope's a friend, I just want her to like me.

"Do you want me to go first?" I blink up at her and see her eyes staring into mine, waiting. I shake my head, banishing all thoughts and quickly nod. "Sure, sure go ahead." I gesture my hand at the dummy which she quickly positions herself in front.

She told me to watch carefully so I do, I watch as best as I can. Her fingers are so dainty wrapped round that knife, she's such a petite girl, it's a wonder how these types of people turn out to be so well done with handling such deadly items. The knife leaves her fingers with a whistle and it plummets into the dummy's left shoulder-blade.

I hear the curse muffled by the other conversations going on, but it's there all the same. She looks at me and attempts to smile but it comes out wonky, her lips twisted in the wrong way and I bolt towards her.

"Don't worry Calli', we've only just started."

She shakes her head and pulls out another knife. "I need to get this right, I need to."

"It was good, real good. That would cause some serious pain, right?" I look over at the knife embedded in the fabric with the red cotton poking out through the tear. Yeah, that would hurt, it would hurt a lot.

"I'm not in this for causing pain Alistair." Her voice has grown more serious. I notice it and quickly adjust my own demeanor. Araceli my sister always told me I couldn't handle the different sides to a person's personality, but I'm learning, I'm doing my best for Calliope. I grip onto her shoulder and squeeze it as comfortingly as I can.

"Don't worry, neither am I. Let's try again, huh?"

The frown slowly fades, replaced by the same stoic expression she usually wears when she's thinking hard. The knife twitches in her hand again and I allow her to have another try. I just want her to be happy with herself, if that means I don't get any practice in then so be it. Behind the rafter where the dummy hangs in the air and a few more stations, I see Megaera with Matteo and Saskia. I like them, they seem friendly but strong enough. They always teach you at training that strength is important.

I never quite understood though when they said betrayal within the career pack was a necessary part of the entertainment side to the Games. People love the backstabbing within an alliance. I don't see that in these people. Calliope doesn't want to cause pain as she said, she just wants to win. So do I, and I'm not really a fan of death and all that scary stuff.

Megaera only ever smiles, she's too friendly. Matteo, too chatty. Saskia's a bit difficult to work out, she gets angry sometimes but then acts so kind the next minute. No, we're not enemies, we're friends. Or at least, companions.

This year it won't work out like other years, we're different.

I hear a soft round of applause and look up again at the dummy. This time a blade handle protrudes from the middle of the throat, red pouring down profusely from the gash. Calliope now smiles properly, revealing a side I really enjoy seeing. That person would be dead instantly without much pain, exactly what she was going for. A quick, easy kill.

I cheer for her and give her a quick hug which she, somewhat slowly, reciprocates. "Well done Calli', see, second try as well! You're a natural!"

"What if it was luck?" The smile twitches a second but no, no I won't let her do that. I shake my head and turn her around to face me, she looks at me and tilts her head back in the direction of the hanging dummy.

"You did it, don't put yourself down. Maybe I should have taken up the offer of leader, then you might listen to me when I tell you you're good, better than good in fact."

Her fist gently collides with my shoulder and she steps back from me, she wanders over to the dummy and plucks the knives from the material and puts them back where they came from.

"Your turn Alli'," she jokes, smiling at me. I chuckle brightly and grip onto my knife. I can't remember exactly how she stood, and if I miss I miss. But whatever, she did it and I'm proud. All I want is for people to stop hating themselves, for them to just accept what they have and smile about it.

The knife leaves my fingertips quickly, without hesitation like she said. It feels good to see it hit the chest, a perfect kill.

* * *

**Raven Stillman, District Twelve Male.**

* * *

The curved blade of the sickle plummets into the dummy's stomach. Immediately, white cotton mixed with different tinges of red poke out from the rip, though nothing falls. I grimace and pull harder, hesitating only just as the blade continues to tear through. The handle is rough in my hands. I let out a quick, sharp breath and with one final exertion of my limited muscles, I follow it through and disembowel the dummy.

The cotton pours from the gash and falls to the ground. I frown at the sight, a shudder traveling from the tip of my spine to the base. Is this how it's going to be trying to kill someone? Is it this hard to stab a human being? My fingers click when I unwrap them from the sickle and let it drop to the ground with a clatter, the cotton doing nothing to cushion the impact. The trainer sighs when I begin to walk off quickly, apology dying before I can let it out. I hate to be irritating and make a mess, but the thoughts building up in my head, the images... it's too much for me to control right now.

Kitty's eyes fall on mine when I pass her, the spear clutched between her fingers. The shaft is nearly as tall as her, and the second I attempt a smile, it nearly slips through and she cries out to catch it. A blush warms her cheeks and she diverts her gaze away from me. Always the same thing with her, always looking away and acting like I don't exist.

Am I that incompetent? I'm the youngest here sure, but youth doesn't equate to immediate elimination, at least, not if I can do something. And that's what I'm trying to do here, train to better myself. Learning skills is difficult and depending on what it is I'm doing, it can be fun, so hopefully in these last two days I can learn something that will help when I go into the Arena. I was hoping Kitty would join me though, my first offer hit a blank wall, a small frown and then a closed door. She wants nothing to do with me... why? I'm not a lost cause.

Maybe she just wants to go alone in the Arena. That sort of mindset doesn't really sit well with me, the idea of no company, not a friendly face or a hello to greet you in the morning. I understand the outcome of this, how everyone so alive and kicking this very minute will be weeded out, numbers dwindling until only one makes it through. I'm young, not naïve, I know the process of pain and suffering. But a friend before you die sounds comforting. And I can't seem to find one, because everyone judges me on skills they imagine I don't have, and my height and stature.

I can't even build up the courage to impress them. My hellos meeting empty spaces, the tribute's back retreating from me. Maybe it's difficult for me to make a good first impression, but I need the actual chance. Why won't Kitty give me that?

I sit down slowly at the station I've spent most of my time at. There are several stations dedicated to survival skills, a lot to do with nature specifically. Apparently you can guess the Arena from what they show down here, but so far everything I've reported back to Callan hasn't helped point out what it could be. The only thing missing is some sort of swimming facility, so he says it can't be water-based. Apart from that though, it could be anything.

These plants may not even be in the Arena. Perhaps the only thing I can actually do, completely wasted when the gong sounds.

"Back again kid?" The gruff man chuckles lowly and passes me the handbook. Inside are the intricate drawings of every single plant known to Panem's finest and brightest. The man who runs this station said there are other devices I could use to look through each plant, quicker and much more advanced in technology. But I like this journal, it's authentic and brings a sense of home. Twelve had trees peeking in the background, the Seam set in the dusty, coal air but nature there on the horizon. I always wanted to explore the unknown.

"Mind if I sit here Raven?"

The voice startles me, a tiny shriek escaping my lips which I muffle with the pages of the book. Immediately my brain kicks into overdrive, a thousand and one words circling and filing through my mind: what to say, how to act, why whoever is here is actually coming up to me.

Nothing comes out though except a squeak and a stutter.

"I'll take that as a yes." The speaker sits next to me and the Trainer passes him his own, more technological source of information. It's sleek and silver, but not what my focus is on now. I blink and stare into the calm eyes of the boy from Seven.

He smiles and I try to calm myself, panic still set in my stomach but I'm slowly relaxing. He flicks through the device, each page changing with a single swipe of his finger on the screen. Then he places it onto his lap and grins up at me again.

"I'm Graeden Peltz, District Seven." He extends a hand. I blanch at it for a second, again a million ways I could go about this burning through my mind. My fingers open and close but there's really only one way, the polite way, to do this.

"Raven Stillman," I shake his hand quickly and release it a second later. "District Twelve."

He seems content with that and gestures towards the array of plant leaves scattered on the mat. "You good with this stuff then? Nature, I mean."

I shrug my shoulders. Not really, no. My stomach deflates, the budding hope of an alliance fazing out. Is this why he came over, because he thought I was competent in something he maybe needed help in? Have I already ruined a potential alliance before I've said more than five words to him?

"I'm from Seven but we know more about cutting down trees than using the leaves for a different purpose. I'm told you can kill someone with the right plant, or use it for medicine. Fascinating, I think."

I continue to nod and let him talk. He gives a speech or something about his thoughts, and I find it fascinating the way he then suddenly veers off into his life, then the reaping, then Tirzah his District partner and the events leading up to today. It goes so quickly, but it's entrancing. The smile never leaves his face, a permanent symbol of his optimism. The fact he's telling me all this... does it mean...

"Do you want to be allies?" I blurt out without thinking. His voice cuts off, the sentence dying out. I clap a hand round my mouth. No, no, no. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt. I-I." I continue to stutter and feel everything collapsing.

No, stupid Raven. No wonder Kitty doesn't want you, or anybody else. Graeden didn't come here to ask for an alliance, he just wants someone to talk to. Nobody wants me, nobody would ever want me. I'm destined to be a bloodbath, a stain on the floor, a name forgotten-

"I'd love to."

What...? Another noise escapes my lip, not a sentence or a word, just a mumble of something. Graeden bursts out laughing and takes the book from my hands, placing it down gently next to his own device.

"I don't care if you're a little bit shy, or you're young, or you don't know plants or how to wield a sword. None of that matters to me. I want to be your ally, Raven."

And just like that, everything flips round. Maybe I can actually do this, maybe Graeden's given me the chance to win, not die in the bloodbath. An ally... a friend maybe. All I want is someone, and I wasn't even the one to initiate contact. Maybe things aren't as bad as they seem, maybe I can go home.

* * *

**Matteo Dallas, District Four Male.**

* * *

"Tallest one you got." The petite lady nods and runs her hand along the rack of spears, each one making a different sound when her long nails tickle the wood. When her hand reaches one near the very end, she eyes the sinister point jutting high to the ceiling and then pulls it from the rack. She passes it over and I hold onto it before it can fall over and gain the attention of everyone else.

"Woah, didn't know they made spears this big." The shaft is smooth, the grip polished and fits perfectly in my hands. I wrap my fingers round tightly, though with enough room for a smooth delivery. "Thank you very much." I smile warmly at the trainer and she blushes, turning back to talk to another tribute calling out to her.

Inwardly, I feel pride radiate and soak in its warmth. For someone like me with such a lack of experience, it's not as difficult as I thought it would be playing up the role of being the career everybody wants to be and everybody fears. Ladies like the curvy little trainer who just handled my request seem to love it, and people like my mentor only try to do their best to throw around what they know in hopes of showing they're better than me.

At the end of the day, not one person is alike and it's funny watching them react to what I say and how I say it. If they're a downer, a compliment can coax them out their shells, if they're looking for comfort a strong shoulder to cry on is ideal, and if they're looking for someone to laugh with I'm there.

"Ever practiced with a real one?" Megaera quips, beaming at me when I reach her and Saskia. The younger girl looks away the moment I smirk down at her. She pretends not to care about me and Megaera, but we all know she's either jealous or hiding something. No one with her set of skills and attitude steps down so quickly from leading. And whilst I may not have the talent to support my claim as a career, I have the right way of running an alliance. I just hope Megaera knows what she's doing, a smile doesn't always work with everyone. Look at Calliope.

"Nothing fake about the spears I've thrown Meg, I'm the real deal." I wink and she only laughs, throwing her head back and pulling her own weapon to her chest. Almost protectively, you might say. "Let's see if you live up to that."

My throat constricts at that, but it's easy to mask and I only sidle up closer to her until we reach the target range. Saskia walks behind us, again staying out of the conversation whilst her eyes trail over each of the tributes closest to the stations in our nearby vicinity. Mysteries are difficult to interpret and work with, Saskia needs to either open up or at least show a true colour to this falseness she exudes. I'm not in the business of using people to hurt them, but in this particular scenario there's no real choice around it.

Real careers have their advantages in knives and swords, the business I run gives me my own set of skills I can put to use. We'll see which is more useful, I'd like to think if I can at least hold a spear, I stand a good shot.

"I wish those two would stop cuddling and join us." Meg tips her head in the pair from One's general direction. She slowly positions herself in front of the target and hoists the spear over her shoulder, meanwhilst I quickly crane my head to look over at them. Calliope made a mistake not choosing me, but I won't hold it against her. The concept of vengeance is a tad futile in my humble opinion. Alistair though, I like him. The guy's a nutcase, always smiling and then going off in a daydream, but he's a good sport.

Nearly gave us all a heart attack when it was suggested he lead, but a fun guy all the same. It'll be sad when he dies, people like him don't make it very far.

"Furthest from the target buys lunch," Megaera laughs, pulling back her arm. I shake my head and roll my eyes. Saskia throws her own spear, ignoring both of us completely.

"Lunch is free here, one of the perks of being a tribute."

"Then I'll think of something else." The spear leaves her hand almost instantaneously, the brown blurs before it connects with a loud thud that resonates all the way down to us. Megaera cheers the moment the shaft settles and we see the point clearly embedded within the bull's-eye. Oh, shit.

"Watch and learn kiddos," I stride up as confidently as I can, pretending not to feel that sense of what's-the-point taking over. Might as well humour her, if I fail, I'll just smile and act pretty like she does. I know people, Megaera's hair tossing and grinning hides something, might as well play it up how she wants and continue like I have no idea. The Capitol wants a show after all.

When I throw my own spear at the next target, I don't do quite so well. In fact, not well at all. The fourth ring is punctured with the pointed end and Megaera bursts out in a fit of cackles, like some sort of deranged crone. Saskia even smiles at that and I see her spear sticking out the second ring.

I have trained with spears before, that's one thing I didn't lie about. But they were crude, makeshift sticks crafted with the cheapest material around. I'm not used to these fancy polearms made of whatever designer wood the Capitol gets from its lumberyards in Seven.

"Well girls, looks like I'm buying lunch." I turn around and sigh dramatically, conceding to defeat in a way that doesn't let down my guard. My mind continues to tell itself off even when we venture from this station to regroup with Calliope and Alistair. That wasn't good enough, in fact apart from missing the target completely it was pretty much the display of an outer-district tribute whose had no training whatsoever.

If I'm going to be taken seriously as a real contender... if I'm going to convince others as well as myself that I have a chance, I can't do that again. I need to be in control of myself and score right, do what's required of me to a skill level nearing people like Megaera.

_You'll get better Matteo, everyone has it in them._

I hope I'm right, otherwise... otherwise this all goes wrong. Otherwise I die.

* * *

**Davin Carrick, District Eight Male.**

* * *

The blows come quick, organised and direct. The trainer grins at me, licks his lips and shoots straight for my face. Almost on instinct, I shriek and wrap my own arms round my cheeks to protect me. The second his hands barely come into contact with mine, they drop down and I peek between my fingers.

"Impressive," he retorts, sarcastically. I pull my arms away from my face and smile brightly, putting strength into holding back a blush. Oh well, I suppose not everyone can be good at fighting.

"Lucky you held back, I was about to unleash my ultimate form."

He cocks an eyebrow and picks up a roster, ticking off something. Whatever it is, for once I don't pry and turn to face Celene. She stares at me giddily, waiting for her time. I like Celene, she reminds me of Azara, so upbeat and lively. Sure she was so depressed yesterday after her supposed ally ditched her, but there I was, Mr Rebound ready to scoop her up and welcome into the best alliance around.

Sure it's just me, but... whatever, it's a good alliance.

"Oh Davin, you're so funny." she latches onto my arm like a little puppy, fussing around me. I appreciate the attention, maybe it's a little much but Celene is adorable and I enjoy that. She stares at the trainer expectantly, waiting for him to take notice of her and call her forwards. The moment he turns and strides off towards a gang of Peacekeepers guarding a side entrance, Celene's grip lessens and I feel the disappointment radiating from her.

"But I wanted a turn," she sulks, lip trembling. How dare he, what a mean bastard!

"Hey, it's rude to leave a girl hanging!" He looks over at me and blushes, his bodyguards laughing behind him under their cute little outfits. The pair from Nine laugh awkwardly from where they stand and I salute them, eliciting more laughs. I like it when I make people laugh, even Celene lightens up gradually and clings onto me again. We link arms and glide away, stomping our feet against the polished floor towards another station.

Admittedly weapons are a scary idea, killing even more so. The idea of blood makes me tremble at the knees, dirt and all that nonsense a prospect that leaves me sick to the stomach. It's a real shame someone like me was reaped, realistically there's not much hope for me, but maybe the Capitol will love me for me and pour in all their money to save my sorry hide. Doesn't mean I can't have fun on the journey though!

"Where to my fair maiden?" Celene shrugs her shoulders and we continue to pace around. All the surrounding stations are a bit too much for me, various blades pointing out of their little containers, arrows stuck into their targets and that rather large menacing pack situated at the back of the room. Lucky for me, Celene prefers painting to fighting, though getting sweaty back there was a bit of fun. Even if I couldn't do much except hide my face.

Can't damage the one weapon I have, my looks are killer!

I laugh brightly and Celene joins on like it's something infectious. The majority of these other sad souls aren't so jolly, the girl from Ten is a spectacle in itself, lighting up her way. Too bad she found her own alliance with the girl from Three. Maybe we need someone like her, a depressed kid to brighten up.

"I have an idea, fancy another friend?"

Celene doesn't quite understand my means until I point at the male from Ten who cuts weakly at a dummy. The knife in his hand barely reaches the fabric the way he holds it. He's not a fighter it seems. Good, these people are easier to talk to.

Neither of us do well in masking our footsteps, silence not really my forte. The kid picks up our presence before we've even reached the rack of knives. His arm hangs limper than it was a second ago and he turns to face us, eyes widening at the pair of us.

"Do I have something on my face?" I poke my nose and giggle, Celene already trying to draw the boy in. He shakes his head slowly and raises an eyebrow. The knife clatters to the ground by his feet and he crosses his arms. Something tells me he's an impatient fella, better get straight to the point then.

"The name's Davin, this chick is Celene," I jab a thumb in Celene's direction who only continues to chuckle to herself, bouncing on the spot.

"Is there something in the water? What is it with you people..." Although his voice is cutting, a smirk replaces the cold emptiness and I mirror it.

"What do you mean Alton?" Celene puts in before I can gather up some response. So his name is Alton? Pretty.

"Have you seen my District partner Raelyn?"

"Chicken girl?" I look over in her general direction and nod my head. She's pulling along the girl from Three who sullenly stares around, face almost like Alton's here when we arrived. Celene makes the same animal impression we heard coming from their Chariot and Alton sighs, slapping his hands against his legs.

"Yeah, our stylists were idiots okay."

"I thought it was pretty creative," I say, stepping closer. "Who knew feathers could be sexy."

He goes a complete shade of dark red, my intention completely. I close the gap and wrap an arm round his shoulder, leaving Celene standing by his other side. We're probably too close but I've never understood boundaries, don't need 'em.

"We'd like to invite you to join our crew, Alton."

He looks between the pair of us, then trailing off to something in the distance. I get the sense he's thinking and I give him a moment before nudging him in the side. If he wants this, he wants this. If he doesn't, I guess we've overstayed our welcome.

"I turned down Raelyn because I didn't understand why she smiled so much."

So he's one of those people. Variety is good though, keeps things interesting. We can't all bounce around like we're on drugs or something.

"Smiling is good for the soul." I place a hand to my heart and Celene mirrors me. She's so cute, maybe Alton can learn a thing or two. He looks back over at Celene again, before settling on me. There's no official leader for this alliance but it's safe to say Celene looks to me for guidance and approval.

"I didn't think someone like Raelyn could find an ally, I didn't know people could put up with what she did. But you two have each other, so I guess what I'm saying is..." he mumbles awkwardly, last words dying out. Celene cheers out loud though and I squeeze him into my side.

"Welcome to the most badass crew around." Alton blushes again and actually... smiles. "We'll tear that Arena apart."

* * *

**Sloan Ryker, District Eleven Male. **

* * *

"Why don't you two team up if neither of you have anyone?" Eaton prods around at his chicken leg, disregarding the sheer amount of sustenance he has at his fingertips. I frown and look down at my plate, nearly empty save for a few drops of grease and sloppy vegetables. I don't like waste but Eaton's a victor now, he's surpassed the life in Eleven most of us lead.

Sabrina looks at me awkwardly, I catch her and lock eye contact which only sends her staring the opposite direction in a matter of seconds. She's an interesting girl, I enjoy the fact she's so silent because it doesn't make it so difficult attempting a conversation with her. I can satisfy my own curiosity about what she's thinking without fear of drowning in my classic social ineptness.

"I think it's safe to say neither of us are willing to trust the other." I state, chewing on the last bit of broccoli I have on my plate. Eaton sighs and sips from his cup of coffee. His eyes flicker once over to Sabrina who is doing her very best to start under the radar. If only she recognised the fact her silence makes her the stand out in the room. I wonder how far I can push her before she calls me out?

"Both of you are stupid not to have an ally in this, the Hunger Games aren't a joke." My mind flashes back for a brief moment on Eaton's Games, a standard, no-fuss Games that was rather unremarkable. I took it upon myself to note down certain strategies tributes adopted and general ways the victors got to their final spot of survival. Eaton's wasn't wholly luck, but he wasn't skilled either.

It's hard for me to take his advice when I have my own plans on how to do this. Each Games is different after all, what makes his idea better than mine? The unpredictability is what I'm trying to prepare for, he's still stuck in his own Arena.

"I know they aren't a joke." I pass my plate politely over to the Avox who hurriedly collects cleaned crockery. Sabrina passes her a cup and resumes twiddling her thumbs, playing footsies with her own feet. "A friend isn't necessary."

"I never said anything about friends, if anything friends are stupid, an ideal only the weak tributes cling to. But no one makes it very far alone, company can be good, loneliness can kill."

I smirk at that which only agitates him further. Eaton scoffs at me like I'm ludicrous in my beliefs, like I need him. I'm not useless, for him to act like I am is his own fault, his own misconception. There's not much to Eaton left for me to work out, if anything his presence only sets to annoy me further. We match each other in that respect, I suppose.

"Have you actually met your fellow Victors, watched any of their Games?" I ask inquisitively, trying to hide the momentary joy this encounter is giving me. I'm not trying to outsmart him, merely show him I'm capable enough.

"O-Of course I have, I'm friends with most of them." Sabrina shuffles next to me and I focus on the smile I can see. It's hidden from Eaton and should be hidden from me, she doesn't notice me looking and continues to silently laugh to herself. She enjoys this as much as I do, and as much as laying low is easier for me, there's a certain degree of pleasure I amount from such situations.

"Then you'll know Eaton, quite a few of them never had a single ally. In fact the idea of alliances is a fairly new concept."

He stares at me, jaw trembling. I wipe the smile off from my face and cover it with a mask of indifference. When his eyes narrow and lips purse, I shrug my shoulders and bite into a stick of celery.

"I like to pay attention to whatever I can get my hands on that will help me. Allies have their benefits I'm sure, but they also have their drawbacks-"

"-similar to being alone," he interjects. I nod my head, reserved to accepting the fact I won't get through to him. No one here is perfect, we all could use a little help here and there but I'm going into that Arena alone based on who the other tributes are. There are the careers, the standard pack obsessed with their image. Then the alliances building up based on companionship. Ward and Cynder are interesting, the most likely pairing for me to join but one I can't put myself into.

Sabrina has the right idea, though I'm still interested in her reasoning behind such a decision. Maybe it's similar to mine, maybe she sees herself faring better if there isn't anyone to hold her back. Connection can kill, after all. I don't want that on my conscience.

"So you two are adamant on having no allies, not a single one?" Eaton's hands have relaxed to his side now and his face wipes clean of any anger or dismay at our decision. I think for now his resignation is a blessing, brief, but appreciated. Sabrina now looks up and stares over at me, then at him.

"I haven't got a problem with Sloan, I haven't," she glances over at me again quickly and smiles. "But I just can't put myself in the position of having to hurt someone I might potentially bond with. I can't..."

So her reasoning is similar. Granted I'm fairly intrigued in my fellow tributes and why they think the way they think, but I can't always get what I want. Sabrina is the closest person I have to a memory of home, Eaton lost now from Eleven's ways and living his life as a Hunger Games' victor. I won't ally with her, but between us maybe we can come up with some sort of agreement, indirectly we can help one another.

"We're not in an alliance. But I won't hurt her, she's the one person I won't kill."

In our past lives in Eleven, that might sound awful. In this life though, it's the closest thing you have to friendship with someone you aren't teaming up with. Sabrina appreciates this and smiles at me, Eaton opens his mouth but closes it. A wise decision.

"If that's all for tonight, I'm off to bed."

I don't wait for a response, neither of them will have one. I resign to my bedroom swiftly and get under my covers. For a while I stare up at the ceiling, contemplating everything. I'm not content with this, what fate has decided for me. And what I hate the most is there's nothing I can do to make it more interesting, make it more exciting for myself. There's no sense of excitement in killing other people, I'm not a monster.

If I want that sense of secretive freedom I had in Eleven, I need to get back home. Killing is the only way for that to come true, so I'll do it. I won't like, but it won't stop me. I enjoy my life, I intend to keep it.

* * *

**Some more alliances, still a couple to go. Those confirmed so far (including last chapter) are:**

**The Careers (excluding Lochlan)  
Ada and Raelyn  
Cynder and Ward  
Celene, Davin and Alton  
Graeden and Raven**

**Now that every tribute has had a POV, I have put a poll up on my profile. The results don't have influence over anything but I'm interested to see who are favourites etc. so go over and vote, results will be posted alongside next chapter :)**

**Early update, mainly because the last one was late and I felt like getting to this sooner rather than later and realising another chapter would be late. Though the next one will be unfortunately, weekend and beginning of next week I will be busy with friends so I don't know when I'll be able to get something out. Hopefully the wait won't be too long.**

_**Favourite out of these six and why? **_

_**Now that every tribute has appeared, bias aside for your own tribute, who out of everyone is your one favourite so far?**_

**Anyway, remember to vote on the poll and if you can, leave a review, reviews make me happy :P See y'all next chapter!**


	7. Survival

**Survival.**

* * *

"_Survivors aren't always the strongest; sometimes they're the smartest, but more often simply the luckiest."_** - **_Carrie Ryan._

* * *

**Megaera Cassian, District Four Female.**

* * *

"The careers are stupid, each and every one of them."

"The careers are a lifeline, the only way you stand a chance of making it out of the Arena alive."

My lips peel back in a sneer at Mags, who only stares at me, glancing for something. We're alone, Matteo and Wyatt together in his room doing whatever it is those two do together. The brief, vulgar thought sends my body racking with silent giggles which stirs Mags from her chair. The bitch believes she sees everything in me, that she knows everything.

Just because she won, it doesn't mean she can order me around and tell me what is or isn't best for my chances of survival.

"You think one of them actually stands a chance, that they can actually beat me?" I guffaw, shell-shocked. I thought mentors were supposed to believe in their tributes, even the littlest girl is supposed to have guidance and hope from these victors. And I'm no little girl.

Mags raises an eyebrow and leans in her chair towards me. I scuffle backwards just an inch away from her and mirror her expression. "It's not a matter of who can or can't beat you, it's a matter of you sticking with an alliance that can assist you or leaving them and having five trained tributes pining for your blood."

"Four, there are four other careers." Lochlan, he'll pay. I don't take insults to what I stand for so kindly, maybe the others are moronic pretenders, but they still stick to what it is their District believe in. Lochlan will die and I'll ensure it's not a pretty death.

"Lucinda told me about you, she likes to gossip about first impressions and what each tribute give off." My advisor runs a hand through her hair and shifts her posture so she's back to relaxing against the table edge. Through the walls I hear muffled whispers, two voices deep in conversation. Matteo's a cunning fellow, false as the act I played Lucinda, but cunning. Calliope too, Saskia's brain is scrambled if she truly believes the blonde bimbo is really as sluttish as her predecessors. I've dealt with girls like her, I've fought girls like her and bested them. Beauty results in all manner of masks, some of them more convincing than others. I'd like to believe mine is secured within the alliance, that they honestly are foolish enough to remain convinced I am their friend.

The notion makes me scoff, something Mags frowns at.

"And what was her first impression of me?"

Mags lets out a short, bitter laugh. A laugh that doesn't sit well with my stomach, a laugh I'd usually wipe off. "Bubbly, kind, cheerful, a bit of a ditz but with enough arrogance to convince others she knows what she's doing. All I see is a vindictive young woman with the arrogance Lucinda so rightfully saw true."

"It's not arrogance if you know what you're doing."

"Arrogance and confidence lie on the same thread, there's little difference between the two but the difference means a lot to someone people. Arrogance kills careers, it's their biggest weakness."

My stomach churns, for a moment anger pulsates against my inner chest and I clench my fingers round the bottom of the chair. I don't like being talked down to, I do not, especially by women such as Mags.

"You seem to think you know a lot, someone like you who didn't even win a Games when there was such a thing as proper training."

My tone of voice rises with the fireworks building up inside my body. Matteo and Wyatt are talking at full volume now, something that doesn't require whispers is no doubt trivial and unimportant. Mags almost jumps up from the chair, I see the twitch, sense the tension budding and pushing in that frail head of hers. But she composes herself, like I've trained myself most of the time to do when it was required of me. Her chest falls to a steady pace and Mags laughs again, loudly.

"You're right, the only people who trained were those smart enough to not let the slim chances of their name being reaped get to their heads." Mags picks up a butter knife, resting on her plate between two half eaten bread rolls. Easing slowly, the anger leaves me and I only watch curiously as she twirls the blade against the skin of her index fingers, musing over something.

"When my name was called, I didn't think I could do it. No one in my position would because there wasn't such a thing as careers yet. All twenty-four of us, from the thinnest in Twelve to the blonde-haired impossible kids from One were all fucked." I watch the silver catch the light, a thin sliver of black cast against the red rose wallpaper. Mags stares at nothing but the weapon, dull side pointed down and sharp edge towards her.

"We fought when the bloodbath started, my alliance was nothing more than me and a red-head from District Eight. She died, axe cleaved her from shoulder to stomach. And I ran. All I did was run. But I killed, I took lives when it was necessary because I had to."

"So there weren't careers and you still won. No such thing as a lifeline which is one of your arguments for saying I stick by them."

It's not that I will jump at the chance to kill them when the gong goes off, I just won't refrain from stabbing anyone in the back. I don't care for any of them, no matter my smiles and flirting with Matteo's stupid hip.

"I won without careers, yes. But I won also because I didn't believe I would win, there was hope over the arrogance that your kind breed amongst each other."

The knife leaves her fingertips in a clear, crisp whistle. I watch, shocked, as it plummets into a red petal curled around a thin wisp of a branch. The wallpaper peels and flaps down, like a little flower in the breeze.

A smile replaces the emptiness of her face and Mags finally gazes back up at me.

"I trained, every morning and every night because I didn't want to die. And when I was reaped, I fought and kept my life over twenty-three others. It's harder now because other tributes train, other tributes are born and bred as killers and if you stupidly let yourself believe you stand a chance because of who you are and what you've done..." she trails off and points at the knife, rose petal dangling down.

"Then you'll be the flower, and the knife will belong to your killer. Because you let your guard down and they used that against you."

"Arrogance kills..." The words feel foreign on my tongue, and when they leave a heavy anchor drops to my stomach.

Mags nods and stands up from her chair, her fingers delicately land on my shoulder and she bends down to reach my eye level.

"You'll win because you know how to kill, but you know how to hold back and keep your emotions under control." A door opens, gentle footfalls echo down the corridor and Mags falls back into her chair. "You'll win because you're confident, not because you're arrogant."

* * *

**Kitty Lynch, District Twelve Female.**

* * *

Applause bursts from behind me the second my spear stops vibrating in the target, the point protruding from the fourth ring. It's not my best, but not my worst, satisfactory considering I only just picked up a spear two days ago. The clapping recedes and I turn brightly to face the pair of them, the trainer stepping backwards to gather up the weapon.

Raelyn from Ten, ecstatic as ever, stands with her arm linked to the girl from Three: Ada or something. Neither of them make a move and neither do I, but Raelyn continues to grin from ear to ear at me and stare into my eyes. Ada's much more awkward but she's there all the same and attempts to copy her ally.

What do they want? I've seen them wandering about the place, complete polar opposites. One as light as the burning sun and one as dour as a rainy day. But they seem close, nevertheless. I've been observing everyone from every station I've occupied: from the careers to the loners from Eleven, all of them have something I could use, or benefit from. I don't pretend to know what I'm doing, none of us here who haven't trained really do, but it's how we use our limited experience and the time we have that counts towards our survival.

If I have to hurt someone, then I will. Raelyn though, from what I've gathered, she doesn't understand this idea. The girl she clutches to is the most realistic thing she's going to encounter until death slaps her in the face. I know people like Raelyn, in fact in a sense I am like Raelyn. It doesn't make anything easier though.

"Did you want something?" I answer as kindly as I can, mustering up a smile close to replicating her own – if that's possible. Raelyn finally closes the gap at my words and Ada reluctantly follows after her like a pet. I eye her up for a brief second then turn back to who I'm gathering is the leader of this alliance. The girl who smiles leading the girl who frowns, I wonder how long it will last.

"You're very good with spears Kitty," Raelyn says, pointing at the many holes spread across the painted rings, each one a mark of my spear, none of them close to the centre. "I couldn't do that even if I tried and tried."

"No one knows what they can do unless they at least try." Raelyn laughs at this and even Ada's lips curl up. Maybe these two aren't the best types of people to be around, but they're still people. Back in Twelve people enjoyed my company whilst it was still company to be enjoyed, then when it went sour I was cast aside and mocked because... well, because I did what I did. Raelyn and Ada are from different Districts, places that don't know my name or what I do. Maybe it will work on them, for as long as it has to. It won't matter in the long run either way, both will be dead soon enough. Maybe I'll be dead with them.

"Have you trained with weapons before?"

The correct answer almost bursts from my throat, but after years of telling little white lies, I manage to hold it back and giggle at the pair of them. A career wouldn't buy it, nor anyone with a good sized brain inside their head. But Raelyn asked the question, she's dim, she won't work it out.

"I've trained for years just in case I was reaped, hopefully it will pay off now that I'm here."

The careers pass behind Raelyn and Ada and I feel a dull sort of pounding inside my chest, the niggling of fear eating away at me. They are the true competitors, the real monsters here. I'm no match for them, neither are the two girls standing before me.

Maybe lying will actually help me in a way, maybe I can believe myself if I tell it to others long enough. A little hope goes a long way.

Raelyn's mouth and eyes open in awe, like I'm some kind of spectacle. It's hard not to feel a tiny bit of encouragement at that, even Ada's skeptical expression doesn't extinguish it. I know people like Ada and they don't speak up against people like Raelyn. They want to fit in. She's a smart girl but a quiet girl, she'll keep her tongue still.

"I mean I can help you, but it's impossible to learn what I've been doing for years in the space of a few hours."

Raelyn hops up at that, releasing Ada's arm. "Oh please please please, at least give it a go. I'd love to know how to hold one. They look so sharp."

I pull out another spear from the rack by my side, the metal clinking together and jangling around. They aren't toys, not rattles for a baby to clutch. But the way Raelyn looks at them, it's as if an infant is begging for their mother to hand them over a teddy bear. It's odd.

"They are sharp, it's a good thing I know how to use them then isn't it?" I smirk and Raelyn nods eagerly. Ada's eyesight shifts up to mine and we exchange a look that lasts only half a second, her mouth narrows and she shakes her head breaking it completely. I know what she's thinking.

Whatever, she can think what she likes.

"Would you like to join Ada and I? We'd love to have you!"

Ada's mouth opens at that, finger raising suddenly. Raelyn shares a sideways glance with her and Ada gives in almost instantly afterwards, her hand meeting her hip. The moment she looks back over at me, I nod and pass her the spear, picking up my own and gathering another for Ada to hold onto.

"I'd love to join you, we'll be a great team!"

My own spear connects with the third ring after I guide them through it. A minute later, my allies completely miss the target completely. Hope is both blossoming in my chest, and fading away. Raelyn likes me because I'm telling her what she wants to hear, Ada will remain silent and put up with me because she likes Raelyn and doesn't want to upset her. And in a sense, I like the pair of them. They don't stand a chance, it's impossible for them to hold their own if they can't even hit the target.

But we're still allies, loyalty is still important. Just how long it lasts though, I'm not sure. I won't be afraid to go when it does, because I can throw a spear and they can't. Plus I plan to win, and for me to win, they have to die.

* * *

**Tyndall Martinez, District Three Male.**

* * *

The trainer continues to hum a soft tune close to where I sit, cross-legged on the mat. With one book lopsided next to me and another perched awkwardly on my knee, I scan my fingers down the page of the open one. In the background somewhere amongst the weapons and walking tributes, there's a gentle ticking of a clock as the text blurs into a mess of black writing.

"You okay love?" I blink upwards at the tinkling of her voice and smile meekly, nodding.

"Probably shouldn't read so much, my head's starting to hurt." I rub my temple and fold the book close, standing up and stretching my arms out. The other books fall over in a heap but before I can bend down to sort it out, the trainer's on her knees rummaging through them.

Apologetically, I mumble something and begin to wander off. Behind my eyes I can still feel the imprint of black whizzing around my brain, the smart side sorting through it all. I'm glad for books, they're a good past time and if you know where to look and how to look, what you find on a page can be a real benefit. It's what I've spent most my time doing, reading about plants before meandering off to the corresponding stations, reading about how to handle a spear before throwing one at a target.

There's only so much embarrassment I can take, if on some level I know what I'm doing, at least I don't look so incompetent in front of other people.

The problem is, people seem to be the one thing I've neglected. The only thing I haven't spent my time doing: putting together an alliance.

"Would you like to cram some extra archery in?" A trainer shoots up to me almost too eagerly, gripping onto my wrist. He's stout, round-bellied and smells like disinfectant. I don't want to be rude, but no matter how much I read or learn, there's something too awkward about twiddling my fingers round a string and positioning an arrow correctly.

I politely shake my head and apologise, pretending not to see his brow-beaten expression. There are plenty of other stations I could visit, but each time my eyes flit to the moving clock, time seems to be slipping away faster and faster. I swear we only came down here an hour or so ago, and now it's the third final day of training and tomorrow we have to impress people who want us dead.

I've never been good at first impressions, only because I try too hard to say and do the right thing. I pass the boys from Seven and Twelve chatting amiably together but I carry on.

I need an alliance, it's not a matter of want, I _need _one. That's what I have to do now, not train more or cram in too much so my brain malfunctions and I simply keel over tomorrow.

An alliance, that's what I need to focus on.

I halt to take a scan of the room. A mental roster flickers into existence in my head and I look over each tribute in turn, ticking them off and ruling them out because most people are already in some sort of alliance. The girl from Eight sits by herself but when she looks up, I can tell she'll bite the nearest head off if they put a wrong word in.

Maybe a group already formed? The trio from Five, Eight and Ten look promising, but then the boy from Eight falls over in a fit of giggles and I cross him out too. Theatricality is interesting, funny and all. But what can a laugh do when a knife is thrown your way? As sad as it is, they're not going to last very long.

At the very end, almost giving up, I see them. Lochlan, the career who isn't a career muttering quietly with the girl from Six. She looks forced, almost as if she's pushing herself too far into something she's uncomfortable with. But when she lunges at the dummy, hatchet in hand, the attack is brutal but elegant at the same time. Lochlan must have taught her, there's no way a girl from Six knows such aggression.

Will they even want me? A tribute from District Two who seems both angry and happy combined, and a girl who I can tell is only with him because she doesn't want to be alone. Maybe we can relate over that, because I need someone, I don't want to die alone. I don't deal with loneliness very well.

I try to play it subtle, footsteps light and feathery against the floor. It doesn't work, not for a minute. Lochlan pokes the girl from Six in the shoulder and they both turn in unison towards me. A hiccup forces its way up my throat and I tremble slightly under my training uniform, awkward and scared all jumbled up into one.

The first word that leaves my lips is inaudible, barely a squeak. Lochlan smirks and I quickly clear my throat, not wanting to humiliate myself further. Their eyes burn through my sockets, judging me almost, searching for something. Have I made the right choice?

"Hi," I mumble finally, throat sore. Neither say anything, together they only scrutinize me further. I clear my throat again and rub the back of my neck with my right hand, skin all bumpy and sweaty.

"I saw from over there," I point quickly back to where I was, something I doubt they care about, "I saw you use that hatchet to tear up the dummy. Could you maybe teach me how to do that? I'm not very good with weapons, never used one before."

The pair exchange a look, a silent conversation going between their eyes. When Lochlan smiles and nods his head, I manage to release a pent-up breath and grin back at him.

"I'm Lochlan, this is Tatum. There's not really much to it when you know what you're doing. I didn't train at any sort of academy, but when you live in Two it's hard not to pick up something."

I wonder why he isn't a career? Why he's not with those monsters over by the swords? That's a question for another day though, I don't want to overstep.

"Hi Tatum," I beam at her. The corner of her mouth twitches and she brings her hatchet upwards, little tufts of cotton still poking from the silver. Soon enough, my stance is acceptable, grip round the handle enough to warrant a clap on the back from Lochlan.

I'm not perfect, never will be. But it's a start, a better start than I could have hoped for. The reason I stepped up though hasn't been discussed, because I'm too scared to discuss it.

But it's Lochlan who says it first, after twenty or so minutes of dummies tearing apart and falling in clumps of white.

"Would you like to join us Tyndall?"

The yes couldn't be said any faster, and when I say it, I finally feel like I stand a chance.

* * *

**Tirzah Ovata, District Seven Female.**

* * *

The rafters provide comfort, but above all, they give me a place to hide away. It's what I want, what I need. Down below they train and train, they scurry like the Capitol wants them to in a vain attempt to put together a semblance of hope that they have a chance.

There's no point for me, what can I learn in three days that can hope to best a career? If they swing at me with their muscles, cold faces and a blade, I'm dead. If not, then I'm alive. But it won't last forever. Hiding is all I'm good for, and as long as there's a place to hide they can't catch me.

I scurry along the second horizontal plank of wood and swing my legs to the next. This training facility was designed to keep the main floors above ground as safe and secure as possible, meaning a tough infrastructure that's almost too good to be true. The ceiling is far from the floor, a little leg poking down won't be seen unless someone is squinting, and even then the light is too blinding.

My legs continue to carry me along the surface and then I base my back against a beam raising up, holding some more in place. Releasing a sigh, I sink backwards and let my head fall and clunk gently against the hardwood. The trainers haven't stopped me, and if they've seen me, they've pretended otherwise. What's a little girl from Seven going to do anyway? All I have is my ability to climb and stay away. The Gamemakers won't enjoy me though, what I can actually do. What's a girl from Seven avoiding the tributes compared to a bloody battle between careers and non-careers? I know what they seek, what they want, and I refuse to give it to them.

Down below the air manages to carry the sounds of swords dicing dummies apart and the claps of the careers. Great, the one place I decide to camp out for the day. The roster is rarely ever ticked except at the beginning and end of training and I'm always there on time, they don't think to check. But I've done my best to avoid other tributes on the off chance they can point me out, and a pack of five vicious careers lingering around their lovely little blades and thirsty for innocent blood, is the last place I want to be.

Or maybe... maybe it's the best.

I don't smile, I'm beyond that. But something inside my mind tells me to keep as quiet and still as possible... and listen. Listen as best I can from my high position. The tall structure is a blessing for those who can use it, the echo is perfect. I pick out the girl from Four speaking loudly like she wants to be heard, her laughs are grating but I push through that and focus on the conversation she's having, anything to help me.

"-can't let them go, if we let them go we lose our support from the Capitol." Murmurs of agreement follow, she must be talking about the bloodbath.

"I agree, we're not exactly going to kill them all but if we get a good amount then the Capitol will still see us in the same light, they might even let us relax before having to hunt others down." Her District partner speaks loudly and quickly. It's hard to pick apart each individual word but what he says is slightly different to what I expected from a monster like him. He speaks of death surely, but I thought hunting was something they were the most enthusiastic about. I thought they'd do their best to keep the blood flowing as best they could.

"Matteo you suggested we don't overlook anyone. I wasn't too fussed about that, no one here looks promising, but we went with it anyway. Has anyone got anything to report?" A moment of silence hangs between them all and for a brief moment I think I might have lost them, or they've moved to whispering. I scoot over quietly and edge as low as I can without my leg making a scuffle and possibly toppling to a horrific injury. That would be a good way to start the Games.

Finally I hear the harsh but giddy voice of the girl from Two. "As far as I can tell, there's no one here who poses a threat. In fact, not a single one are worth our thoughts."

Someone scoffs, someone laughs and another sighs. These careers are fascinating, though I detest them all, they're different. The girls are harsh, crude and arrogant. The boys much more gentle than I expected from people in their position.

"That's your arrogance speaking Saskia, it's foolish to push away people who could potentially-"

"-seriously, if I was to die – which I'm not – I see it being at the hand of one of you, not these farmers and factory workers."

I grit my teeth at that. Despite my parent's profession and their overbearing control on my time spent with other people, they're still family and still my District. How... dare they. I don't care for anyone below these rafters, the others who didn't choose to be here are in a place I am to, and as tragic as that may be, I refuse to put myself with any of them. But, as little chance as they have, they're still human beings. With families like these monsters, with friends and hopes and dreams and a generation after them that will forget who they were like they will the other hundred kids who will die in the name of this Game.

My knuckles drain of colour from the grip on the beam and I shake my head, wiping my mind of all that. I can't let them get to me. The only time I've ever been angry is at my parents and when I was reaped, and I learnt to control myself. A lack of control leads to danger, and danger leads to bad things happening.

"Boy from Nine, his attitude is touching but he seems like he can handle himself. Then there's Lochlan-" The girls from Two and Four growl at that, together. They don't like him for ditching them.

"I don't care how you feel about him, he's still from District Two and may have some training. We can't rule him out, or his alliance."

They mention a few other names, but not a single mention of me, or even Graeden. We're nothing to them, mere numbers on a chart that come before a victory they believe is in their future. Bugs to squash. They move on after another ten minutes of mocking the lives of innocent children and I get to relax in peace, finally.

I don't pretend to be a selfless teenage girl, no one is truly selfless. But these... people, they show me the difference between what it means to be human and a machine crafted for killing. Up until my death, I refuse to let myself fall into the latter, there has to be a way of not letting the Games ruin me. There just has to be, otherwise we might as well all kill ourselves here.

* * *

**Atarah Neve, District Nine Female.**

* * *

Elijah grips on tightly, my left hand to his right. The calluses rooted in his palm bump against my own scars, making it slightly more uncomfortable than it ought to be. Together we move swiftly towards the girl from Eight messing about with a small blade between her fingers, muttering to herself. Elijah wants her to join us, and I don't want to disappoint Elijah. I'll do what he wants because he's kind to me, he makes me feel happy about myself. He's a friend.

"Hello there," he calls out brightly, a smile etched deep into his face. Whenever I look it's there, a charm no one else here has, a friendliness I've only encountered in a rare few. If he ever feels sad I've never seen it, or he's hidden it behind something and locked it tight from view.

The girl from Eight looks up with a twisted look in her eyes, her lips narrow and she clenches her fingers round the knife handle. For a moment, my heart thuds harder behind my ribcage at the sight of the blade, what it can do. Elijah's tuned himself to my discomfort and squeezes my palm gently. I'm not a coward, I'm just... worried. The only blades I've been around were used to help people, not hurt them.

We cut grain, not flesh.

"Can I help you?" Her voice takes a tone I don't like, it matches her scowl. She's lithe and dainty, like a little flower. If she wasn't so angry, maybe I could see us getting along. Why does Elijah want her? What does she have that makes her important?

Another movement behind my chest and I clench my eyes shut for a moment. The two continue to talk whilst I feel my eye twitch and the fingers on my other hand moisten with sweat from my palm. If Elijah sees good in her, then she is good. And if Elijah wants her to join us, then she joins us. Whatever my thoughts are, they're misjudged, pointless. I see what's on the outside, I can't judge someone based on how they look. What's right about that?

"-want me?" I tune back into the conversation and catch a breech in the distance between us, her eyes now widened with shock. I guess she hasn't had many offers.

"Of course, you caught my eye from the Chariot."

Her lips curl into a snarl and Elijah falters for a moment, stuttering over himself. "N-n-no, not because of the dress. I just... liked you, your attitude. It's different."

He's blushing and I can't help but giggle at that. All their attention snaps to me and I find the light laughter fading and turning into a warmth creeping up my face. The way she looks at me isn't welcoming, but I don't falter, I won't.

"Elijah didn't mean that. You just have a spirit not many others have, a nice kind of spirit." I do what I can to ease her, relinquish her of whatever it is that stops her from opening up just a little. In my experience it's easier to be happy than it is to be angry and it engages other people. No one wants to be friends with someone who sees the bad and reflects this in their behaviour, maybe I've worked out why Elijah wants Kennedy as our ally, maybe it's to make her happy too.

"We're not the strongest team but we're not dishonest, we'll look out for one another until..." I trail off and for a moment avert eye contact. In my peripheral vision I see Elijah nod slowly, smile lower but still painted clear. Kennedy's shoulders ease just a little and she steps forwards. Her knife drops to the ground with a clatter that attracts the unwanted attention of a trainer. She scowls and mumbles something but doesn't step towards us to intrude. Brokering of an alliance is something they've probably been informed not to interrupt no matter what we're doing. Unless it's fighting, fighting isn't permitted.

"I'm not sure, I'm not the greatest, with people, I mean. I'm not that type of person. I can be pretty mean." A loud cheer somewhere pierces my ears and I flinch, Kennedy jumping slightly in the air. There are a mixture of people here, some loud, some quiet. Some kind, some hostile. All types of people varying in the level of attention they receive.

I'd like to think we're somewhere in the middle, on the radar of the sponsors, but swept under the carpet in the eyes of the careers. Elijah's done well to be positive but not like the girl from Ten who drags around her allies like a giddy little pup, gaining the eyesight of every tribute in the room and the Peacekeepers patrolling the sidelines. We're content to be forgotten by the other tributes, as am I. I've never done what I did so people would know my name. I did it because... because it was just, and true. Elijah knows that, that's why he likes me. Kennedy, where does she fit in?

"You don't look mean to me," Elijah crosses his arms and my hand falls to my hip. For a moment his fingers are still there, ghostly but still there. Then the feeling subsides and I stare at Kennedy whose still debating, weighing up her options.

"I can be mean, I've been told I can be mean. But I can be kind, my dad always told me that I could be. He didn't say that when he said goodbye though."

_S__he's just a little girl Atarah_, a little girl in a big world swallowed whole by the pressures of being a tribute. How can there be any bad thoughts towards such a person? Maybe she's mean and rigid and stern, but then she looks up and her eyes are wide and watery.

I help people, I don't throw them away.

"Please join our alliance Kennedy, we'd like you to." Elijah, Kennedy and I. There's no hierarchy like the careers, no ulterior motive, no future gain within the idea of us coming together. But there's friendship and trust. Two things Elijah and I hold dear, and maybe Kennedy can too.

She bites her lip and runs the back of her hand across her nose. In a flash, she looks up and her features twist back, away from vulnerability, back to being distant. But there's a lightness in those eyes, a gentle touch I see in Elijah's.

"I'd like that too," she whispers, bending down to pick up her knife. Elijah, Kennedy and I. We're friends... Kennedy is my friend.

* * *

**Lochlan Clarington, District Two Male.**

* * *

Saskia and Faustine shoot upwards, the elevator disappearing in a single flash. I watch the glass figures flash on and off as the chute takes them to the roof. Once they're finally there, truly away from me, I turn back to Tarquin and settle round the dining table.

He keeps one eye on me suspiciously, whilst impossibly he manages to read the same newspaper he's been invested in this entire trip. His eye is cold, glossy like glass but dark and misty as if the night sky is locked away inside that head of his. It unsettles me, leaves my stomach somersaulting and my dinner squirming. I manage to bite that all back and slump backwards into my chair cushion.

"So," I stretch my arms and clap my hands together, raising my eyebrows in his direction. "Got any advice for me, _Mastermind._" I sense his frustration at the nickname, but he doesn't rise to the bait. A feature I honestly admire in him and see absent in most of my fellow tributes, a feature I wish most people had so I could stop doing it. They might see me grinning and laughing at their annoyance, and whilst it's fun, it's tiring to do the same old show over and over. If only the world were smarter, it wouldn't require such fuss over who's got a quicker temper.

"Nothing, not one teeny tiny little bit of advice for your tribute?" My thumb and index squeeze closer, a gap between the two. Again, he makes no move at any gesture or word. If it wasn't for his brain, I'd find him wholly and unutterably boring. Boring can be good, but boring is boring and there's only so much of a dull person I can withstand.

Tatum, she's a girl I'm still attempting to work out. She asked to join me when I made no such show that I even wanted an alliance. She sought me out of her own desires and then when we got to talking, it was as if she wanted to walk off and leave me alone forever. Then along came Tyndall, awkward but charming in his own bizarre way. I asked him to join me because like Tatum, they didn't judge me for my home.

I'm from Two, a career district. I'm the career who isn't a career. The others either look at me with hatred or fear, the other careers thirsty for my blood no doubt. If I was a nicer person, a valiant selfless young man, I'd have declined both Tatum and Tyndall because being with me paints a target on both their backs.

But I'm an honest person, and I'm honest about not being good. I want company, in fact maybe I need it. A desire that burns inside of me and when two young people out of everyone were willing to talk, I knew what I had to do. I just hope they don't die because of me, not so quickly at least. I'm not sure my conscious can hold that forever.

"Faustine calls you Mastermind doesn't she? I don't really see much mind at all, just a guy who doesn't stop reading those damn newspapers."

My voice remains constant and level, but Tarquin does something. A tiny flinch of his fingers and a crease bends the topside of the tabloid. The sheet crumples under the pressure and he pays all attention on me, those stormy eyes trained to my own.

Finally, we're getting somewhere.

"She calls me Mastermind because I deal with books and academia."

"Thrilling stuff," I whirl my fingers around, chuckling lowly at the way his eyes only seem to narrow further. If they got any smaller, they'd shrink into his thick skull. I suppose that mind of his is what makes it thick, they do say he's the brainiest of the careers, a match for District Three. I do hate it when people don't live up to their reputations.

"I have a question for you Lochlan."

That grabs my interest. I lean forwards and rest my chin on my knuckles. "Go on."

"I'll tell it to you true and give you the advice you require, if you answer what I want from you. No lying and I'll help you."

I snort. "I thought helping us was part of your job description, why am I having to make a deal to get what I rightfully should have?"

"Because I can shut up and never talk to you again if I wanted. What do you say?"

"Do I really have a choice?"

The newspaper drops from his fingers and crumples in a black and white heap next the cutlery. I sense the nighttime creeping from the windows, now that the Capitol is awakening to their nightlife lifestyle, the noise will be unbearable. But I tune into Tarquin and Tarquin alone, for the first time I force back any words and listen, only listen.

"I've never seen, from any career District since the idea of volunteering became so popular, a tribute reaped simply because they believe they weren't liked well enough. No one, not the most simple-minded of potential volunteers, would give up their moment in the spotlight just to spite someone like you. My question is, why did no one volunteer for you, and I want the truth?"

My heartbeat quickens in the ensuing silence. Tarquin glares at me but raises no noise, it's like he doesn't even breath.

I rake my brain for an answer, but truthfully, I thought it was because Two was a place full of idiots who wanted me dead just because I wasn't like them. I thought from their perspective the greatest entertainment would be to see someone who didn't want to volunteer, fight it out in the Arena and get what they deserve.

But, Tarquin's words ring true. I know my sister better than most people, that arrogant, pretty little head of hers, the desire to be a victor. She would never give up for anyone, even if they were the most despicable, vile human being on the planet.

So why... why am I here and not some vicious scumbag who learnt how to hold a sword rather than a rattle?

"I don't know Tarquin." I look down at the plate and fold my hands in my lap. "I really don't know."

"Do you want to know?"

My eyes dart upwards and widen at the smirk playing up his face. Tarquin and smiling don't mix, they don't, both words are complete opposites of one another. But here it is, Mastermind with something happy on that dull face of his.

And it's chilling. It's terrifying.

"You know?"

He shakes his head but the smile doesn't leave him, not for a second. "I don't know. I do know however that I'm the Mastermind. And when you die, or when you leave alive, I will find out for you. Faustine and I raise warriors, we do not raise idiots who would give away their dreams to hurt someone like you."

Someone like me?

What really is that? I'm not sure I even know the answer. If I'm no career, but always will be noted down as a career whether or not I die or live, what really am I?

I thought I knew the answer, but it's never been so far away.

* * *

**And here is the final list of all alliances and loners. These will be posted on the blog:**

**The Careers.  
Lochlan, Tyndall and Tatum.  
Ada, Raelyn and Kitty.  
Cynder and Ward.  
Celene, Davin and Alton.  
Graeden and Raven.  
Kennedy, Elijah and Atarah.  
Loners: Tirzah, Sloan and Sabrina.**

**Sorry for the late update, as I said last chapter, stuff got in the way with friends. Shouldn't be too many distractions, these last few Capitol chapters shouldn't take me too long to get through then we're onto the Games!**

**Poll results are also up, check my profile out. Congrats to Megaera for coming out on top!**

_**Favourite out of these six and why?**_

_**Favourite alliance?**_

**Training is now over, up next the tributes meet the Gamemakers! **


	8. Pride

**Pride.**

* * *

"_Because he could not afford to fail, he could not afford to trust." - Joseph J. Ellis._

* * *

**Davin Carrick, District Eight Male.**

* * *

Kennedy sits with her arms crossed, thumbs twiddling on-top the place mat in front of her. I watch, bemused, at the way her face continues to crease and twist with every second that ticks away from the clock above my head.

If Alton had have refused the offer of an alliance, Kennedy would have been a choice worth looking into. The girl has spunk, something that unfortunately seems to be lacking in my alliance. Woof continues to reprimand me consistently that I'm not taking it seriously enough, and Lawson only whispers merrily in Kennedy's ear, words I wish were spoken up louder.

Fun and games are all well and good, but not once would I ever call myself foolish. I know what the Hunger Games are, the message behind them, the brutality that shrouds the Arena like a dark blanket. Kennedy's fighting spirit will be missed; Celene, Alton and I aren't as well suited to the idea of combat. Shielding my face from harm was a clear example of that. I must be a coward in the eyes of anyone who happened to be watching that unfortunate scene.

"How are you Davin?" Woof's downtrodden voice sweeps the air as he walks from the corridor. He passes Lawson who greets him kindly and then returns focus straight back on me. Kennedy only stares up at him, her eyes two little beads above her steaming cup of hot chocolate. I clasp my hands together and grin broadly as Woof drops down to join the seat to my right.

"I'm ecstatic Woof, these eggs are delicious." I scoop around the messy pile of scrambled yellow and stab into a clump, bringing it to my lips. Woof's faint smile drops somewhat as I shove them down my throat, laughing whilst I swallow. I notice out the corner of my eye the way Kennedy's nose crumples up and Lawson staring at me blankly.

I bet I'm somewhat of an oddity amongst these guys. That's alright, though. I always was back in Eight.

"Yes. Er, the eggs have always been of high quality."

"All the way from District Ten, I knew Raelyn's eggs tasted good." I gulp down another mouthful, soaking in the silence around me. Woof awkwardly clears his throat and looks down at his own steaming plate, full to the top with meats and eggs and all things delicious. Lawson coughs and twists his head back in the direction of his dearest Kennedy, back to whispering words in her ear that she only takes in like an obedient little girl.

I don't know what it is with these folk, District Eight breeds a vast mixture of people. Flamboyant on one end of the spectrum, and I happen to be planted in with a group who don't understand the meaning of a proper laugh. I could use the whole, 'we're going to die in a few days' trick, but Kennedy only shrinks in even more at that and Lawson glares at me like I've kicked a puppy.

Whatever, their loss.

"Got any grand ol' advice for me Woof before I go downstairs and make a fool of myself?" I smack my lips together and wipe the back of my palm to remove the grease and other crumbs from breakfast. Woof blinks rapidly for a moment; apparently he loses focus a bit too much in my presence. I can't imagine why.

He clears his throat and nods his head, blinking again. "Y-Yeah, just, well, show them what you can do."

"What if I can't do anything?" I raise an eyebrow, unsettling him further. "I mean, not all of us are as kickass as Kennedy over here."

My head tilts in her direction and I wink at her when she sends a sideways look towards me. Lawson's smile lasts half a second then he's back to talking to her, trying to draw his own tribute away from me as best as he can. I know why and I don't hate him for it. Woof wants me to win, so Kennedy has to die. And Lawson wants me to die so his precious Kennedy can make it out alive.

It's all fair, all reasonable. I mean I'd rather not die, death wasn't really part of my agenda five days ago, but now it's here I suppose it would be good to see Kennedy return alive if I do happen to kick the bucket in a few days time. Good for my family, good my friends. District Eight will prosper.

"Everyone can do something Davin, even you." He intones sharply, firmer than he probably means it to be. When his face creases with an apology bursting from him, I don't play on it and act the fool. He says the word and I accept it, sipping at my juice.

It cools my tongue and the dryness in my throat. I can pretend to be nonchalant about it all, accept I'm a failure, but truthfully I am terrified. Only an idiot wouldn't be. These scores mean a lot, that's what we've always been told and assume when we watch them from home.

A twelve means you're the best fighter imaginable, but I've never seen one of those. And a zero, which I've only seen one other time, means you're pretty much out of the race. I need a number that will help my alliance... Celene, Alton... I care for them, despite what it looks when I jump and hoot about the place, they're my friends.

"We used to play this game at home. I hated sport, again, adding to shit thrown my way. But it was fun, we fashioned these sticks into makeshift bats and used them to hit balls of rubbish over fences and on roofs. I can swing a bat, I guess. But anyone can do that."

I realise all eyes are on me. My heart feels tighter in my chest and there's an unwelcome sense of sadness making me shift uncomfortably in my chair. Woof's lips curve upwards slowly, kindly. I shake my head and shift my expression to the one everyone knows Davin Carrick to wear. I don't want to be sad, if I'm sad, then what's left?

"Bats are better than nothing. You can... kill, with a bat."

"I play with balls, not people." I snicker, pushing away from the table. The trio watch me walk round the dining room and stand at the elevator doors, pressing the button. I wipe my mouth once more and step in when the silver slides open.

"The early bird catches the worm. Might as well be the bird."

I hold the door for Kennedy who rushes over to join me, Lawson nodding in my direction. He may want me dead, but that doesn't mean he likes it. None of us like it, only a twisted person would.

But they all have to die. Little Kennedy who fights the world, Celene who paints and laughs, Alton who sulks but smiles when you break him. They all have to die for me to leave alive.

And that's not fair, none of this is.

* * *

**Matteo Dallas, District Four Male.**

* * *

_Everything has to be perfect. _Wyatt's chilled voice replays over and over, overtaking whatever the others whisper besides me. This morning nothing betrayed the illness we all know is killing him, but the same ailment he's determined to keep hidden ravages his body. _Everything has to be perfect. _More advice, more words I want to put into action but can never seem to find the right amount of skill needed.

He's the only person who really knows who I am, what part of Four I come from and the futility of raising a fight. He's the only one whose managed to keep me going, even when Megaera and Calliope continue to frighten me with what they can do. I'm not accustomed to fear, but it's there, a dark presence whenever they throw a blade.

What they can do, it's like art. What I can do with words, it doesn't come close to that in the Arena. I've become able with a spear to set it a rung somewhere marginally close to the centre, and dummies put up no restraint as the point tears through them willingly.

But in there, with Meg swinging a sword at the moment of betrayal. She'll kill me. I volunteered for a reason, whatever went through my mind feels as distant as it ever has been.

Tyndall, the boy from Three, stands up when his District partner twitches nervously past him. Megaera's excitement reaches fever pitch when the boy disappears, knowing she'll be next. I mimic the happiness the girl continues to exude, and slide along the polished wood of the bench. She relaxes into my arm when I sling it round a gentle shoulder, flowing hair tickling my chin.

"Someone's happy." I catch the roll of Saskia's eyes when Megaera breaks their conversation to twist her head in my direction. Calliope and Alistair left together after his session, but Saskia and Megaera have been attached by the hip ever since we got together and Megaera was named leader. I'm the only person she ignores Saskia for.

"Why wouldn't I be?" she trills cockily. I wish my feeling matched the empty words that leave my mouth, like her, I wish I really understood what it meant to feel arrogant.

"Imagine sitting down, waiting for the score and a sad little one pops up. Aren't you scared?" Her ice-blue eyes sparkle at that and her head falls back with mirth. Giggling, I notice Saskia's disappeared.

"Believe me Matteo," her hand clenches round my shoulder, drapes of blonde hair continuing to trace my bare skin, "I'm not getting a one."

Megaera pushes away at that, playfully, but forcefully as well. Tyndall leaves and averts gazing anywhere near our general direction in worry of Megaera's sinister little smiles. I've seen them and I doubt she's playing fake behind them.

She's so... bewildering. Smiling. Flirting. It's textbook for a manipulative career, a fake career. Yet she's got it nailed, because even though it's so false, her claws have sunk in and I can't free myself.

"See you later," she winks and saunters through the open doors and out of sight.

Left to my own devices, I have nothing to do except wallow over everything, think through plans and recite old advice handed down to me by better fighters.

How much can a solid, well-toned voice do? Here and there, occasionally it gets me what I want. But in the darkest of nights, the horrors plaguing nightmares brought to life and knives hidden in shadows, what can I say that will stop death creeping up on me and smothering everything I am? They tell you in Four that fear is for the weak, but Wyatt told me the only time someone is brave is when they are truly scared. Which way is it? Either way doesn't help me, either way I'm still left feeling like I'm going to die.

When Megaera appears again, the confidence in those eyes of hers acts as nothing but a blow. Though I stand all the same, head high, poised and confident as it is expected. I didn't have much in Four, but I won't forsake the reputation we all have back there. The others won't see me quaking in fear for something that maybe, just maybe, I can evade.

The tiled floor echoes my footsteps down the walls and to the little hole in the wall where the Gamemakers sit, each and every one of them peeking up from their clipboards, books and platters. I announce my name with as much of Megaera's tone as I can. The spears, ranging from the size of a small branch to triple the length of my arm, line the racks set by targets.

If I have any hope of getting a score that won't ruin everything I'm working for, it's these spears. I take one that fits the best in my hand. Wyatt told me the spear should be a part of my arm, that with any throw it moves with my elbow, sifts through my fingers like droplets of water and kills whatever my eyes see.

I do just that and hoist my arm up, reeling backwards. _Everything has to be perfect. _Perfect, that's what I've always strived for. The spear leaves my fingers, the pole shudders in the air only a fraction of a second and then it digs deep into the second ring. The _second!_

The Gamemakers latch onto my joy and maybe if it was possible, I'd fight that off and act nonchalant like Calliope. But I don't. The next spear that leaves hits just above it, the next below and the next an inch to the left.

Never can I beat Megaera, because I've never had her training. The design of the Games is always in favour of people who are taught to kill with just a small amount of luck thrown in so the Game isn't totally bias. My home saves me from a reputation the non-careers have, but my skills won't reflect everything truly.

I don't know what the Gamemakers see in me. Wyatt told me about his district partner. The soft girl. Her ten was conjured up so the careers wouldn't be looked down upon. The Gamemakers were worried, Wyatt was steely in determination but merciful, and this girl was too gentle for the Hunger Games.

If they can give her something to make her stand out, will they do the same for me?

With each and every spear I throw, I try to tell myself I won't need their help. But reality is there, poking around, and I know I do.

I need the Gamemakers to help me. Where's the hope in that?

* * *

**Celene Fontaine, District Five Female.**

* * *

Davin sidles up to me clumsily and plummets down on the chair between Alton and I. "How're you feeling?" I ask, my own nerves spiraling around, sending my vision a hazy mess of panic. My stomach continues to torture the voice attempting to control the anxiety, nothing works though, even when Davin flashes a thumbs up and nudges Alton. I can't match him today.

The boy from Four left five or so minutes ago, the gentle thumping of my heart beats in unison with the clock ticking my time away. When he arrives: confident, trained, ready, everything we aren't, it'll be my turn. What do I even do in there?

The rules of training were explained to me, crisp and clear from that hulking mass of muscle who called himself the Head Trainer. But, the swords, the spears, the polished spiked points on every rack and shelf reminded me too much of what I'd seen on television. They reminded me what I was heading for, and I couldn't pick a single one up.

I would have given up if it wasn't for Davin's unwavering ability to make everything feel alright. Somehow he keeps me going, even when I feel like I'd rather dig a hole and settle there for the rest of my short life. Alton's like Julius, only Julius grew annoyed whenever I poked and prodded him, Alton only grins to brush me off quicker.

I miss my best friend. I hope he doesn't cry when I'm killed.

Davin digs an elbow into my side and I lurch upwards, crying weakly. What I try to mask as a cough, only makes Davin burst out giggling as Matteo strides out of the room, head held high and into the extended arms of his District partner who waited for him. She's so two-faced. One minute she's sprightly and giddy like Davin, then when no one is looking but one of us, her face twists and all I see is the desire to thrust a sword in my gut.

Kinnard told me that I'm going to die with that gloomy face of his, sucking the atmosphere dry. I've accepted that, but it doesn't make the looks any easier.

"I believe it's your turn," Alton mumbles. Davin wraps an arm round my shoulder and pushes his lips through my mess of blonde hair. His breath tickles and I giggle awkwardly with the warmth it gives me, conflicting with the coldness still circulating my veins. "Knock 'em dead." And then he pushes me upwards and I stumble along, past the empty chairs of the careers and the two from District Three.

I know they're all watching me, I know because I watched everyone else who stood up. My name officially leaves the speaker in a sharp crackle, the female voice sends a chill down my back which I hold at bay when I step through the open door. Immediately a wall of heat barges into me, catching me off guard.

The Gamemakers sit perched in their little hole, dug deep into the wall. Metal panels protect the underside and top side, though nothing but sheer air masks the opening between us and them. There's a distinct smell of roses wafting from something, mixed with the aura of sizzling meat on a spit. They feast whilst I prance as gracefully as I can to the centre, head high like a career and smiling at them.

Image never meant much to me outside of art, but here in the Capitol it means an awful lot to the people in high places. Since I'm not going to impress them much with my finesse with a blade, I should probably look as good as I can.

I cough to clear my throat, only five or six of the Gamemakers turn on their chairs away from their gluttony to watch my presentation.

"Celene Fontaine, District Five."

One of them, a great gargantuan of a man, nods with a smile curled on his lips.

_Deep breathes, one, two, three, four_. I repeat the process with each light footstep over towards the first weapon I've held. Once I fail, it's time to paint. But to give it a shot is better than to not attempt at all.

The knife, or what I'm guessing is a knife, is thin and pointed. It stretches in sleak silver for longer than I imagined an ordinary dagger to be. There are plenty of the less fancy, more common weapons spread around the rack but I turn it over, smiling, and bring it up with my hand wrapped tight.

The dummy is pristine, tethered to the rack, innocently swaying. And then I stab it, and the weapon shreds that facade and falls to tatters. Red cotton pours out from the gash, the knife sticks when I go to pull it out, sweat builds up and trickles down to my fingertips when I finally yank it out fully, stumbling backwards slightly.

Embarrassment creeps up my face, blurring my vision and warming every part of skin it can reach.

I hear a deep chuckle, a high-pitched laugh, and something that sounds remarkably like kissing. Whatever it is, I shuffle over to the canvas, discarding the blade on the training floor, scuffing the blue top. I blush again and pick up the pace. When I'm settled, I look and all eyes except a pair of distinct, cat-like yellow, have turned away.

I'm out of the running now, no one wants to see a painter make a mess.

Each time my finger dabs away into a different colour, a line adds to the picturesque view cast onto this sheet. I continue to add texture, shades of detail, everything I can to show them I am talented, just not in the way they want us to be. I can't be a killer, but I'll never stop being creative. On and on I go, the clock ticking somewhere in the recesses of my mind and my hands smelling of new fresh paint from the pots littered around.

When I'm called it's distant and I don't respond immediately. The second time catches and I stand up, looming over the scene: me and Julius, with Davin and Alton my new friends, back in Five. Where I was happy to paint in secret, happy to dance and run and joke around. Happy to be a teenager.

I look over at them once more, the thought repeating like a mantra round and round my head. _They can take away my life, but they can't take away what I am. _It makes me smile. It makes me happy.

* * *

**Raelyn Houchens, District Ten Female.**

* * *

A vent built into the wall by my head releases a nice, relaxing breeze. I lean back and smile in the chill. Kitty's hands are clasped together, tight, a frown on her face. Occasionally they unclench only for her to wipe her fringe from her forehead, then she's back to nervously awaiting her name to be called. Tick, tock. Over and over the incessant sound repeats itself, resounding in my skull, unsettling Kitty to the core.

I edge along the bench slowly and elbow her in the side. Kitty's eyes snap to attention but when they land on me, she sighs and tugs at the hem of her training shirt. "I'm fine," she states numbly.

"You don't look it." I reply, looking up at the sound of footsteps.

The girl from Nine awkwardly smiles at her District partner. He pats her gently on the back in a hug that's over before it begins, and then he's off down the hall past empty benches. Atarah Neve shifts into the elevator and I watch it burst upwards in a bout of speed. Ada left after hers, a gentle goodbye and that was all. I wish she'd have stayed.

Kitty prefers the presence of us both. Maybe it's Ada's calm demeanor as opposed to what I'm like. I guess it's nice to be surrounded by people who contrast but bring out the best in one another. Kitty's somewhere in the middle, she's effected the most by her emotions.

I'm good at keeping those down, hidden, locked away. Kitty doesn't see my nerves, though they tug on my insides, fight their way out. I'm petrified because I don't want to let my friends down, I don't want to get them killed because I'm lackluster in everything I do.

"Not everyone can be like you Raelyn," Kitty jokes, elbowing me back. The tension dissipates and Kitty sways her legs back and forth, she fidgets, but any movement is better than nervously pulling on her hair. When Elijah comes out, it'll be my turn. My turn to step into the spotlight, something I never aim for but always drag around with every move, and demonstrate what I've learnt in the past three days.

Kitty, she can throw a spear. Ada, she's good with trinkets and her mind. Me? Smiling, acting, bringing the best out of people but remaining distant about my own disadvantages.

I see a one in my future, I'm not even joking now.

"We don't all have to be fighters," Kitty mumbles, perhaps reading my mind. That makes me uncomfortable; I don't like being read so cleanly by my faults. Kitty's eyes fixate on the open door and my heart leaps into my throat, thudding away, choking me.

A squeak leaves my lips and Kitty giggles, then frowns when I glance back. I try to smile and I think it works, it usually does. She relaxes and helps me up. I'm good at hiding emotion, but I can't control my awkward limbs. My knees jerk together and arms continue to rattle against my side.

"Good luck," Elijah says kindly, sweeping past me and Kitty. The gesture is appreciated, but my stomach refuses to listen. I feel Kitty's hands leave me as my head starts to pound, my vision sways as my legs carry me closer and closer to the door.

Confidence. _Come on Raelyn_, confidence! I continue to plaster the same smile on my face, the one that stretches from my left ear all the way to my right. That's all I know, who I am. The Gamemakers might be like some of the other tributes. They might like that, accept it. Maybe I can get a score based on the fact I'm not ready to lie down and die, that I'm happy...

What are the chances of that?

The weapon racks are intimidating. I pause for a single second on the spot once the doors slam shut behind me. Silver catches an overhanging light, reflecting a spark back at me. The Gamemakers are relatively preoccupied but certain eyes watch me all the way from the doors to the centre.

"Raelyn Houchens, I hope I don't disappoint," I curtsey politely and hop up on the spot.

The weapons no one really cares about, but ones that can still do damage, attract my attention from a metal basket near a few dummies ignored. A hammer, Ada's favourite weapon, peeks out of an open hole. I spot a cleaver and I go for that, my District Ten roots pouring through. I hate the idea of cutting and hurting and killing, but a cleaver is better than nothing.

I ignore their empty eyes transfixed on me and launch the blade into the dummy. The power behind the attack is staggering, I lurch forwards and lose balance as it sticks in the neck and doesn't come out. My hand jerks awkwardly and I tumble into the dummy, the handle knocking straight into my shoulder. A pain shoots up my spine and I wince, embarrassment creeping up my cheeks as well as the white hot stabbing in my arm.

A Gamemakers booms with laughter. The vibration continues to rattle my skull as I twist upwards awkwardly and position my feet in front of the next dummy. This time I go in gently and the cleaver slices through fabric. My stomach churns as I remember more and more about how people I knew talked about killing animals and how to do it. The worst thing is, I know how, the best places to cut.

The Gamemakers might like that. The fall has ruined everything but I can salvage something.

"If I cut here, the death will be quick." I slice the neck openly, red pouring out and tumbling to my feet. Then I point to places on the body that will bleed out. "If I cut here though, the death will be prolonged." I slit the fabric open and more red, the disturbing colour of blood, falls out.

I do the same presentation for the next few dummies. Somehow I don't collapse or throw up with the words piling from my mouth. I think about nice things, happy things as the worst kinds of memories continue to speak out to the Gamemakers. I'm good at this, distancing myself. It's all okay when I pretend otherwise.

The Gamemakers get their show and I save myself the mental torture of knowing what I might have to do... what could happen to me and people I care about, people who don't deserve what the Capitol is putting them through.

Even when I leave, I see the red cotton. That stark red, standing out against the tiles. Blood, I know what blood is, what it looks like. But I've never had to spill it, I never wanted to, I still don't.

How long will it last, though? How long until I have to... until I become something else?

* * *

**Calliope Cartier, District One Female.**

* * *

Shine's tousled head peers round the wall. Her brown hair is curled and messy, twirling round her pale skin and rose lips. Dorian barely bats an eyelid as she waltzes towards the living area, two thin black straps keeping her delicate bodice from falling. He whistles, a noise that grinds on my ears as she falls on the leather upholstery and curls her legs to her chest.

"Uh-uh," she wags a finger in the direction of the thirty year old. The gesture makes my stomach coil with disgust. I look away at the suggestive eyebrow he raises, eyes widening like a hurt child. He's thirty, she's barely eighteen years old. It's perverted.

Shine is like my mother, or Letta, the girl who only loved herself.

She looks in my general direction, then over at Alistair who tries so very hard not to look at her. I find it funny in Alistair, the way his eyes shift and red flushes through his cheeks. I let out a hidden laugh, muffled by my hands and the sound of the television, and lean back into the cream couch.

"Calliope, you should dress more like Shine." Dorian quips with his eyes lit up the same way. I frown at him but don't rise to the bait, rooting my eyes on the advertisement playing on the screen. Fireworks burst in colours of red and yellow, shades of green and blue and everything else as the live event continues into the night. I hear the bustle of Capitol life even from my place in this building, the metal walls do nothing to hold back the party life.

"She could pull it off, but why would we want to please you Dorian?"

Dorian shuffles in his seat and lets out a deep laugh. "If you're trying not to, you're doing a pretty bad job."

Alistair's face is a deep shade of scarlet, even when Shine covers herself up more with sparse cushions. This is what I hate about One, the superficiality. How everything is based around the single simplistic principle on what looks good, gets the attention. I despise jealousy, but I'm angry over that.

People who look whatever and work well deserve what they receive, not people like pampered Shine who barely lifted a finger except to butcher children. She did it for fun, for fame and glory. Dorian did it for women, a stupid idea, yet somehow it kept him alive.

The mentors we have are children. I'd do a better job, even Alistair whose attempts to help me have been appreciated, even if he's destined to die. I can only do so much to protect him, and I'm still trying to work out if I should... it's hard, caring for someone. He wouldn't hurt me, he's the only person I know who wouldn't.

But how long will it last before I have to hurt him, or someone else does?

"Come on Shine, don't be a spoil sport."

The screen is overcome with the interviewer's bright, wrinkle-free face. His hair is vivid green, voice crisp as he announces the beginning of the training scores. I blot out the sound of Dorian and hear Shine's giggling. It's overwhelmed quickly by silence as my face appears, clear and expressionless. How I like it.

A '10' appears, dripping red underneath my chin. I allow myself to break down a little and smile at the rest of them. Shine cheers, Dorian watches a cushion slip, and Alistair congratulates me with a thumbs-up. A ten, I can work with that.

Alistair's is impressive, better than I honestly imagined. An eight and he's off, cheering and clapping. Dorian's attention snaps towards his tribute for a second, to commemorate his accomplishment, but nothing gets between him and Shine. Not even someone he's supposed to protect.

I watch Saskia appear, a brief moment of anger flaring up. I despise them all, except for Alistair. If it wasn't for my own chances of survival, I'd leave the pack. All they do is lie and play their own childish games, imposing who can play the better fool and pretending that we can't see through it.

I understand manipulation, but I understand it when it's used correctly. I've never seen such blatant examples shoved in my face.

She receives a nine. Good, she won't like the fact I beat her.

Lochlan only gets a seven, but for someone who prides himself on not being the career we are, that's good enough. Perhaps a problem in the long run.

"Calli' will get that traitor good, won't you?" Shine winks. I don't bother rising to a reply. She's proud of me, believes I can win. I plan to, but pride is wasted when it comes from a girl like her. It's not the fact I'm even older than her, it's who she is, the badge she wears, what she concerns herself with.

The girl from Three messes up with a four, and Lochlan's ally receives an average enough five.

I hear the word bloodbaths come from Dorian, but that I barely have time to reflect on when _she_ appears on screen. Megaera Cassian. Maybe the biggest competitor or the biggest fool. I haven't deciphered which she falls under.

The ten that follows her pretty face unsettles my stomach. The anger isn't welcome, nor the jealousy, but it's there and I hold back from letting it warm my face. Megaera is a problem too big to ignore.

Alistair exchanges a worried glance when all Matteo can conjure up is a seven. Lowest of the pack. The momentary relief is washed away by Megaera's ten. No matter what anyone else gets, that'll be there hanging over me like death. I'm worried.

The blonde girl from District Five pops onto the screen. Caesar's voice is laced with laughter, but that's held back for the '2' that is announced as it fazes underneath her smiling face. She won't be smiling after that. Matteo's impartiality is a skill I wish more people had, but there's no way he can count her as a possible threat anymore. A possible victor. It's better to remain vigilant, but I know when to hold back and count people out the game.

Her District partner receives a five, better than the girl's. Alistair remains focused entirely on each score, memorizing them he said before we sat down. I'm doing my best too. District Six is better. A six for both the girl and boy is memorable, especially since the girl is with Lochlan. Their other ally with a five, it doesn't make me feel so good. Saskia won't count it as anything to worry about, but I know Matteo will pester us with possibilities of future problems they'll present. I agree now, their alliance is a problem, even if we already knew that to begin with.

"Bunch of amateurs," Dorian sneers.

He doesn't get it, not even Shine who continues to hold up the pretense that she's above Dorian, when all she does is encourage his behaviour.

If I win... _when_I win, I'll be a better example for those who volunteer. I understand the pressure of being a trainee, what you go through, the consequences if you don't live up to other people's expectations.

That's why I don't put up with what anyone says, why I guard myself from it all. Adding it up, it all equals to my survival, and that's what I'm not willing to lose.

Shine somehow beat the odds, and Dorian, he won a Games when careers were still only beginning to crop up. Luck was their saviour. My ten proves what I can do, what I have.

Alistair comes to sit with me when District Seven appears. He's the problem though, perhaps the one thing that will kill me. Not Megaera or Saskia or Matteo. Alistair. His innocence, it doesn't belong in a place like this.

* * *

**Ward Bingham, District Six Male.**

* * *

"Well done both of you, a six is great for such talented little kids from, well… Six!" Giselle applauds us both, her nails curl over my shoulder and she pats it assuringly. Giddy with excitement, she pirouettes and falls in a tangle of feathers and frill. Denley rolls his eyes but he's just as happy, if not happier. Morgan only holds onto Tatum's hand, milky eyes gazing somewhere over the television set and into the ink-black night sky, drifting into a dream.

Tatum glances over at me and we lock eye contact. Briefly, I let a smile grace my features but return to staring completely at the television set. A six is good, more than I expected for a show I'd already deemed mediocre the second I entered the training facility. I never said a single word, only walked over to the weapons, the items I knew the Gamemakers preferred to what I'd practiced with, and attacked.

It felt empowering yet… frightening, to have a length of silver in my hand that could do so much damage. I'd never experienced that before, even when Cynder ran around like he was dancing, striking left, right and centre at the dummies, I only watched. I always watch, even Cynder has his motives, and I intend to learn them. He gained a five, under me, and I'd never even understood the art of weaponry. Never practiced it.

Beginner's luck, my mind told myself when my stoic face filled the white void and a bloody six overtook the centre. But now, all I can feel is a warmth in my gut, a little voice nagging at my mind, the sensation of… hope. I haven't felt it before. Denley told me I was talented but that to get my head in the clouds was a mistake, if I rooted to my chances realistically I could use that fear to my advantage. Hope gets in the way of fear, and that kills. But now, now I feel it and I'm not sure what to do with it exactly.

Cherish it? Expel it and remain rigid and quiet? I wonder what Tatum would do, like me, she doesn't express herself to anyone. I've always acknowledged what was inside my head over anything else, physically I was imposing enough to maintain my independence, but never to hurt anyone. Now that a six has been tagged to my name, the halfway mark, only a single stroke under two tributes from career Districts, maybe the one advantage I had isn't the only one.

Maybe I can kill.

Caesar Sr's voice announces behind the fading advertisement that District Seven is next. I perk up and wait patiently for the numbers. Scores mean a lot, they tell strategies and talents. Tributes I have scratching at my mind, hiding something, I can use a number to reassure myself or theorize another plan centred around them. Then those who aren't so eager to hide and want to prove themselves, a number will tell me how much they have to really show off. And finally, the weaker tributes, the slaughtered, not the killers. I can weed them out as well.

Denley told me to use what I had in my arsenal and that's what I intend to do.

The girl receives a three, cast under her miserable frown. I haven't seen her once the past two days. She's been hiding, and that's her talent. Hiding can be useful, but when a fight is sent your way, there's only so much a hideaway can get you.

The boy receives a four. Mediocre enough, not totally disappointing. Giselle's voice blares behind me, broadcasting her emotions like a news reporter. I ignore her relay of her happiness and watch the District Eight girl fizzle into existence. Her five is expected but respectable as well.

Her alliance is one to watch out for. The District Nine male is intimidating, his appearance false to his personality. His smiles stop people from worrying, but that's foolish. With a sword in his hand and danger presented to people he calls a friend, he stands a chance of making it far.

Kennedy's partner receives a four, nothing shocking. District Nine is next. The girl with blonde hair framing her face, a delicate smile lighting up the screen, receives a standard five. Impressive for someone so timid, she matched her fiery acquaintance.

"You should watch out for this group," Denley whispers in my ear when Elijah gains a six. I nod and let my gaze linger on him for a moment. "I plan to." Then District Ten appears and Giselle's squawking finally grinds to a halt.

Raelyn, the girl who everyone knows, the girl we either love or hate, gets a four. I've spent my time watching her alliance as well, working out scenarios and key components that could add up to a possible threat. Ada is intelligent, her four was less impressive though. She isn't a manipulator, hiding isn't her game. Raelyn appeared talentless except for her overwhelming capability to annoy people. Then Kitty, she's proficient with a spear, but I'll have to wait for her.

Eight and Nine pose a greater threat than her alliance. That I'm assured of.

Her sombre District partner, completely fixated on the opposite end of the spectrum compared to her expressive personality, receives a five. The highest in his alliance, but I see no spark there either. Cynder discarded them the moment the male from Eight shouted at a trainer. For once, I couldn't hep but agree with his limited opinion.

I shuffle forwards at the next face. The girl from Eleven, hazel hair curled round her chin, a smile smaller than Atarah's, yet welcoming. She gets a three and I know it's not true. I know she's a girl to watch out for. Cynder refused to acknowledge it, even when we made a list of those who can fight and those who can't. She was on the latter list for him, but for me, I know who she is and what she can do.

Cynder can let his guard down, but I'll always sleep with one eye open whilst she's still alive.

Sloan receives a six. Denley mumbles something at this, he doesn't like it when people gain above a five from people outside our own District. The careers aside, a higher number of talented enemies means a slimmer chance of making it out alive.

Kitty beats her alliance with a five, solidifying her place as the fighter amongst her mismatched group. Then the final face, little Raven, scores a four.

I try to remain impartial enough, to open my mind to a whole range of outcomes. But I can't see one where Raven Stillman provides a challenge, that he'll make it out the bloodbath alive.

It leaves a hollow feeling in my stomach. I've accepted the need to kill, but I'm still having to channel something into my mind that will soothe it when it comes to being so cold and apathetic in relation to kids being slaughtered.

I'm distant but not vile, not uncaring. We all have a part to play in this Game though, the players and the pawns. I aim to be a player, and the six only helps to strengthen my position. The Hunger Games are random and luck mixed in with bias and strength. All of it I can't hope to control, but on some level, I can do something to better my chances.

Hope, that's important. But I won't let it get in the way.

* * *

**I don't usually just outright beg for reviews (well, not all the time ;D) but when a chapter gets one, it kind of puts me off a bit. That's why this chapter was this late. If you have the time, just a simple comment would give me something to go on, I'm not expecting an essay or anything xD **

**Anyway that aside, I have a new collaborative SYOT up. Submissions seem to be going slow but hopefully with this little advert I'll get more. Go check the prologue and my profile out for all the details, I hope to see many of you submitting :) **

_**Favourite of these six and why?**_

_**Which tribute as of this early moment, aside from the careers, do you see making it far?**_

**Training scores will be up on the blog. Remember to check out my new SYOT, the authors I'm writing with are great. Next up: Interviews!**


	9. Dishonesty

**Dishonesty.**

* * *

"_Don't be afraid of enemies who attack you. Be afraid of the friends who flatter you." - Dale Carnegie._

* * *

**Sloan Ryker, District Eleven Male.**

* * *

Priscilla circles me, cooing over my chocolate curls, drawing her fingers along my collar and settling on my back. I shiver uncomfortably, attempting to sink lower in my chair without arousing too much suspicion

"You're positively edible," she mutters, combing through her equipment set in the vanity. My reflection stares back at me, blue-rimmed eyes, tousled curls that I never brushed. I haven't had much sleep these past few days, what with the Hunger Games peeking on the horizon, steadily drawing closer and closer with each passing second.

"Hmm," she pulls out a comb, the teeth black and sharp. "This'll do." I feel the cold bite harshly against my scalp and wince, digging my fingers into the grooves of the baby pink wood. This is one thing I'll never understand about these people, these caricatures of human beings. In spite of their own families and loved ones, they look at us like lumps of meat to lust and drool over, only to cheer when our blood is spilt or we murder another child.

I'm curious. Priscilla drags the comb, again grating on my skin and I open my mouth to speak. "Priscilla?"

"Hm?" She's humming to herself, a tune I don't recognise. Her voice is lovely, though it's her opinions I'm more interested in. Capitol life won't teach me much for the days to come, nothing I can harness and use for my benefit, but what's not to like about a little conversation to pass the time.

"What is it about the Hunger Games you like?" I sense the falter in her hand, a gap between each comb-through. I smile up at her through the reflection, her eyelashes which dangle almost by the top of her rose cheeks, blink twice, startled. "Um..." she stutters and drags the comb once, then twice, through my hair.

I'm pretty sure it's over with, nothing more can be done about what's on top of my head. I don't question her though, giving her time to peruse her conscious for an answer. It's almost as if I can see the lightbulb blink on above her strawberry hair. She drops the comb on the vanity and brings out a small metal tool, tweezers maybe. My eyebrows start to burn in protest.

"The beauty, what else?" Her hands dramatically flourish. A light settles in her sparkling eyes. Do the Hunger Games really mean so much to these people? More questions spiral inside my head, working their way to the tip of my tongue.

It's just us two so I don't feel anxious nor nervous about speaking. Priscilla's not the brightest tool in the box but she's no fool, she won't broadcast anything that goes on behind this closed door. Besides, I'm not doing anything wrong. I'm simply wondering what makes these odd, bumbling women tick.

"What about in the actual Arena? There's not much beauty there."

"Well," she wracks her brain for another answer, dipping down to my eye level. I see the metal ends coming closer and closer, a tiny little enemy set to cause me pain. I brace myself and bite harshly down on my tongue, a metallic tang oozing to the back of my throat when a single hair is plucked from my brow. _Shit! _

"I guess you could say there's beauty in the Arena. Or beauty in watching friendships blossom in the Games."

"What about Arenas that are in ruins? The Arenas full of the worst kind of monsters? What about when friendships take a turn for the worse and collapse in on themselves, taking out children who only wanted the alliance so they could have some help?"

I struggle to find the filter with which to sift my words through. My stomach feels strangely uncomfortable, a red tint in my cheeks when I look up at the glass. I'm angry. Of course, why wouldn't I be? Priscilla plucks another hair but it's barely noticeable now with my brain on haywire. Why do these people stand around, going on about beauty when the true meaning behind the Games is fear and torture?

"You don't make any sense," I seethe, gripping onto the table, pain surfacing back from my forehead. She scowls, plucking harder. "That's very rude young man."

I scoff loudly, angering her even more. She pulls another out of place hair, I squeal and watch her pull back with nothing between the metal prongs.

"You're just trying to hurt me now." I moan, rubbing my forehead. I see the curl of her lips rising to meet her eyelashes. Priscilla's demeanor has shifted from the naïve yet gentle young woman who helped me into my Chariot outfit, to this one, the lady who I've dared to question.

"Keep your comments to yourself, or you might find the Gamemakers doing it for you."

"Threats now?" _Shut up, Sloan. You're pushing your luck now._

I'm not in District Eleven anymore, there aren't any Peacekeepers to find me and punish me for being in the wrong places and asking the wrong things. I'm in a place so much worse than that, and tomorrow being put into an Arena that beats those two to the number one spot.

"I think we're going to get your interview outfit now, we don't want you being late do we?" Her voice laces itself with that soft, sultry tone. I grimace when she disappears, rubbing my forehead again, the pain still tingling above my eyes.

I hope Sabrina has it a little better. The girl has more sense than me, remarkably. The three was devilish of her, hiding those true talents. No one here has a single clue what she has in that head, the danger she potentially presents to everyone. She cares, she doesn't want to dehumanize herself too much, but she's lethal. Sabrina understands how to play things for the better, I sit here and question each and every person that tries to offer me a little help.

Eaton hates my guts, spending each and every waking moment tutoring Sabrina or scolding me. Priscilla's meek, deformed face, hides a cunning witch who I've angered. And I'm alone in the Arena, with no one to help.

I guess that's one good thing, a lack of company. No one to annoy, no one to tear apart in my ignorance to their well-being.

"Time to get you dressed dear. Get those rags off of you." Priscilla cheers, returning through the door.

Things keep going from bad to worse, when can I catch a break?

* * *

**Alistair Tempest, District One Male.**

* * *

In all her glittering glory, Calliope sits proudly in her interview chair, interacting respectfully with Caesar. Her eyes are masked with indifference, yet she holds the conversation, laughing in all the right places and twirling that single silky strand of blonde hair that curls round her eye.

I know she's disgusted with herself, but this is Shine's area of expertise, and for once she caved and let the mentor help her.

Shine's… pretty. Even now as I stand in my matching gold tuxedo, my cheeks warm and flush with red. Dorian's eyes never leave her whenever she's in the room, and me… I can't help it. I giggle nervously under my breath and fidget, my thumbs pulling at the hem of my blazer. Little flecks of gold trail down to my dress shoes, lighting the black like sunlight.

Saskia's mumbling with Megaera behind me. The two girls are as inseparable as Megaera is with Matteo, and I'd like to think I am with Calliope. Though I'm aware I can be overbearing, Calliope puts up with it and even joins in on occasion. When she's mad, I'm there and I believe I help brighten her day, even just a little.

I understand the stress of her position. Megaera's amiable and sweet, but we know the other side to her even if she denies it. Matteo's charm covers the fact I even managed to beat a guy that struts like he knows his stuff, and then Saskia… Saskia's a mystery. She goes from anger to joyfully chatting with me, then back to glaring as if I'm a speck on her shoe. We have our work cut out for ourselves, especially when bonds turn sour and shatter.

The stage explodes with the fervent clapping of the audience. Caesar bids goodbye to a stunning Calliope who curtsies politely, and taps away towards me. My eyes peek behind the curtain just to see what's-… _woah… _

The stadium stretches back so far I can't see the stands. Everyone's dressed as if they were from a circus. Colours of the rainbow and inbetween the spectrum light up the place, Caesar's dyed hair a little less spectacular with the claws, tails and tattoos I can see in the front row.

Calliope stops by my side, shares a smile, and then struts past the queue all the way to the elevator waiting for her. I gulp, palms sweaty. _Show time, Alistair. No need to be nervous…_

"Ladies and gentlemen, Alistair Tempest!" Caesar's smooth voice pierces my ears and I feel the lights burst before my eyes, searing my brain. It feels fuzzy. I stumble forwards and recognise my feet gliding over towards the chair, but the blurriness hurts… I don't get nervous. I don't. I laugh and smile and cheer up the nervous.

Stage-fright of all things, of all things considering where I'm going tomorrow. _Man up!_

Caesar's suit is a shimmering tuxedo, somewhat like mine only ocean-blue. His hair is turquoise and little studded gems glitter in his cheeks. The freakish appearance is meant to make him all the more attractive, but what happened to just being normal?

"…having a good time?"

I perk up and let my lips peel back. If things seem down, I never let it show. I smile and nod my head eagerly, gripping onto both arms of the chair as if I was about to leap forwards at Caesar. His gelled back, slick blue hair stays rigid as he giggles alongside me.

"I'm perfect Caesar. Perfect, perfect, perfect!" Calliope's either laughing as she watches, or staring like she always does. Megaera's sick to her stomach, I know that much, but she'll congratulate me all the same. Matteo with his words and Saskia with a look that could mean a thousand different things.

But I'm me. If looks changed me, I'd have turned years ago.

"We like to keep these short, but I can't help but feel disappointed we won't have enough time to get to know what I'm sure is a very interesting life for our Alistair."

Flattery, I wrote the book on how to do that.

I laugh again. "Stay tuned for my autobiography, coming out after the Games!" The audience laps this up but I'm not in it to be fake. I appreciate the attention, in fact… I feel good. This all feels good. The nerves have all but gone, vanishing to be overthrown by this glowing sensation.

"Confidence hey? I like confidence."

"If you don't have confidence, how can you achieve anything in life?"

The audience hoot their approval and Caesar nods along. The spotlight's on us, a thousand watts of burning light but it's barely a blip on my radar. The cameras snap snap snap, the video recorders play this live all over Panem for a million people to watch my cheeriness.

Why haven't I done this before?!

"That's very true. A confident tribute succeeds."

"Well," my smile goes lopsided, sliding down my face, "not all of them. Only one can."

Calliope. A tug on my heart makes my face twitch. Calliope, the only person I can say deserves to win over my own will to survive. Sure she's manipulative when she wants to be, she plays the game she condemns because she's the best at it. But she's kind, underneath all that built up indifference, she cares for me, and others. Maybe not the others in our alliance, but the tributes she won't hold back to kill are there, haunting her.

I haven't thought about killing anyone, except for Calliope. And that makes me want to cry. I don't think I could do that, I don't think I can watch my friend die so I can win.

Caesar mumbles something about Calliope, a distant murmuring in my ear when she's all I can think about. We all volunteered for different reasons: fame, glory, to prove something… women in Dorian's case, maybe the same for Matteo. None of those reasons matter, not in the slightest.

We're all trained to kill. Megaera won't hold back from stabbing me, Saskia would gladly cut Calli's throat if it means her life.

And we're with these people, we call them friends.

That can't last forever, I don't want nor need it to. Calliope and I can do just fine together. Because together I can make sure she doesn't die… together… together I can be there for her in the finale, and the decision about what to do can tear me apart then. Then, not now. For now I just smile, for now I act the way I always have in life.

* * *

**Tatum Caville, District Six Female.**

* * *

Tyndall and Lochlan have gone, leaving me to fend for myself backstage. The other tributes peruse around, idly standing or twiddling their thumbs waiting for their chance. All I can do is stare and watch, watch as the careers play it confidently without a single chink in their armour. People like Lochlan smother their anger with humour, making jokes that ridicule Caesar but get the audience fist-pumping and laughing. Tyndall, awkward yet sweet, chatting with Caesar like two old friends meeting for the first time in years.

Then there will be me, as soon as Cynder Duke is finished acting the dolt he is. I've never been so scared, never felt so hopeless.

If the Games are as hard as this moment, I might as well not fight. I've never been good at presenting myself, forcing a smile to come through what the others are able to hide. The world tells you to be yourself, and all I've ever done is shy away from that. I don't even know who I am anymore. I'd never have thought Cynder a dolt, not a few years ago. I'm as bad as the others who judge and joke, at least they do it without hiding.

"Tatum Caville, your lovely and beautiful representative from District Six!"

Maybe Giselle's dress is big enough to hide under. I can't walk on that stage, I can't talk and be judged and forever mocked as the girl who either fainted, vomited or punched Caesar Flickerman in his plastic face.

"Tatum Caville," someone nudges my back and I whiz around, glaring at them. The Capitol attendant steps up, his chest thick and arms corded with muscle. Even if I wanted to fight, this guy would drag me onto the stage in a mess of violet lace and throw me into that overgrown chair.

_Give in Tatum, do what they want you to do. _I take a deep breath, composing myself to the best of my ability, and on I go.

The sound of my high-heels clacking against the stage is swamped by the uproar in the stadium. The stage teeters, my stance clumsy no matter how much Giselle tried to teach me. _Left, right, left right. No girl, no falling. Left, right. Head high. _

I ignore each and every comment, smiling despite my head clouding, and take my high heels off. I dangle them by my hips as I walk with a gentle patter to the chair. Caesar greets me, bemused, and gestures to the cushion.

He either takes my expression as a joke, or doesn't want to bring it up. Despite the cool air tickling my feet, chilling them comfortingly, I feel as if vomit is fighting its way up my resisting stomach. My face warms, a hot anger radiating from my cheeks. I don't want to be mad, he's not done anything. But he will, they always do, they always say something.

"What a lovely dress Tatum," he compliments, made-up face slathered with a smile. I feel sick to my stomach and shift in the chair, my legs crossing then uncrossing. Since when was sitting down so difficult?

I do my best to feel a twitch in my lips, but that's all it is, a twitch. "Thanks." I say, voice thick with nerves. Caesar latches onto this and lowers his voice, not in volume, but in pitch. That incessant enthusiasm halts, no longer grinding on my ears as he leans in closer to my face.

He smells like a doll dropped in a vat of perfume.

"How about we try to unravel the mystery that is Tatum Caville, huh? I mean, that six, that six was marvelous. Who would have thought it?!" A murmur sweeps the crowd. I play with a ribbon knotted round my waist, twirling the silky edge.

"Yeah, I was pleased." I see Giselle, fuming in her seat. I'm not the lady she wants me to be, I'll never be what anyone wants to be. I'm not even what I want to be.

"Lochlan mentioned you two were together, with Tyndall too. Whatever brought this strange alliance together?"

Tyndall. My stomach coils, his gentle voice, his warm smile. All of it, forcing the sickness up and up and up. "He…" He reminds me of me? Or the me that was hurt and cut apart, the me that had to change because the world was never going to accept her. "He's kind. He's… he's smart."

He's gawky. He's helpful. He's a pushover.

_He's you Tatum, the Tatum you pushed away. _

"You look a little green," I see his face momentarily flash with disgust. I feel as if a hand is pushing up my throat and squeezing my insides on the way. I don't have the urge to punch him, I don't even have any sense of anger. I just want to… want to cry again? No. No more tears, not if I want to live.

I just want to stop this, all these emotions and confusions about who and what I have to be for the people around me. The careers are vicious cruel monsters, they may hide it behind the confidence up on this stage, but they keep it just on the surface so it's visible.

Lochlan. He's angry, he's always angry, but his biting sarcasm is who he is. He never was anyone else, he never will be. Tyndall. He's emotional when his mind is messing with him, he'll shy away if he feels the pressure budding against him. But he's himself… he's who he always is.

I changed because I thought it was for the best. I wanted to be a person no longer susceptible to the world I live in. And through that, I've become these people. These judgmental, sick, angry bastards who only care about themselves and ridicule others.

I swallow thickly, trying to hold it down. I have to, I can't throw up. Just make the buzzer sound. Please, _please. _

"Ladies and gentlemen, Tatum Caville!" The buzzer rings a vibration that never sounded so sweet. I sprint upwards, forgetting my shoes and nearly knocking a waiting Ward to his feet. My stomach grumbles with pain, acid burning the back of my throat.

Giselle, Morgan and Denley knew I don't do well with nerves. Caesar brought it all up. Tyndall and Lochlan; subconsciously I chose them as allies because they're two sides of the same coin, the spectrum on which I lie, stuck in the middle and trying to work myself to either end.

I make it to the elevator doors just as a hand grabs my shoulder. Giselle turns me around, face red ripe like a tomato, and up it comes. No words leave her, no chastising remarks, no cruel quips. Only a gasp as vomit drips from her fringe. Shit.

* * *

**Graeden Peltz, District Seven Male.**

* * *

"You'll be fine Tirzah," I whisper comfortingly. She shrivels from under my arms and steps back, eyes wide open. "You'll be…"

"I'm sorry," she mumbles, stalking off with her eyes rooted on the floor. Her legs nearly twist awkwardly underneath her, the side equipment shaking in her approach. Luckily my District partner is nimble and she shies away from a catastrophe and glides behind a curtain out of sight.

I sigh and awkwardly pat down a ruffle in my white shirt. If she doesn't want my company then I can't force it on her. For some reason it doesn't sit well with me, my stomach grinding, causing me to slump down and take a seat in chairs aligned on the right hand side.

The backstage area is an open crowd of bumbling Capitolites working on their tech, and us remaining tributes, interacting or staying in the shadows away from others. Tirzah's gone, even though Ward Bingham is nearly finished with his own interview. For my own, all I want to do is be myself, but Tirzah's disapproval has hurt me in a way that it shouldn't.

I don't whine when people try to push me away, but me and Raven, even he knows we're not destined for greatness. Tirzah has her skills, even if she hides away behind that three. I thought if I could break down the barrier, she'd openly throw herself at the chance of a little company. I guess I thought wrong.

When her name rings out from the speakers, I see her shadow shift behind the velvet curtain. She's talented at staying out of sight, Raven picked up on it during training, a little leg poking from the metalwork. She's on the stage in a frilly pink gown, and down she sits.

If there was ever a person encompassing everything that surrounds the word uncomfortable, it would be Tirzah. Her face is squished and squinted as if she'd eaten a whole lemon, or her throat was closing up. Caesar makes a snide little remark about something Tirzah is apparently supposed to find funny, but it blows over her head and she remains straight in her seat.

She gives him nothing. A nod for one question about family, a shake of the head for a little bit about friendship and help in the Arena. Everyone here understands the importance of sponsors and I never had Tirzah pegged down as someone stupid. She isn't, but she's blown that out to sea, she'll be alone in there. Both from the others fighting to remain alive, and the watchers outside the Arena, betting money and providing necessities for those they want to live longer. Tirzah won't be one of them. Sadly, she's rejected every bit of hope I could have lent her.

"Tirzah Ovata everyone!" The clapping is less enthusiastic, anyone could notice that. She doesn't seem fazed in the slightest. I catch a brief look in her eyes when she stares upwards, meeting mine. And then she vanishes in a flurry of pink and the curtains are left wide open for my entrance. My interview in the spotlight.

"From District Seven, Graeden Peltz!"

The stadium comes alive with the buzz of the Capitol. Hands bat away at one another with each footstep on the wooden stage floor. Each pair of eyes, from beach blue to the darkest of blacks, watch me take my seat. A cold sweat chills my back and I sink into the velvet cushion, hands twitching on the arms.

"No need to be nervous, I don't bite," he winks, sending the audience into a fit of giggles. He gnashes his teeth playfully and I awkwardly chuckle, biting on my bottom lip.

"Sorry, I'm not usually like this. I guess a lot rides on how I appear right now."

His lips slink up in a smile and he leans forwards. "Don't worry Graeden, everyone loves you."

"They do?" I ask, honestly shocked. _They don't, he's lying. _The voice whispers around my head but I let that slide out. Oren continues to mess me about, shunning my happiness, but he's not here right now. If I want to smile, I'll damn well smile!

"Show 'em your pearly whites!" Caesar chirps and bangs his hands together when I allow myself to sink through, holding back the Graeden that shouldn't exist.

I smile and the crowd smiles with me. A warm glow swims around my gut, smoking out the nerves. Tirzah either knew how to play it, or refused anyway. I'm not here to act false or put up a facade. Raven needs me, and when a friend needs me, I do all I can to help them.

"So Graeden, I feel as if you're someone who doesn't doubt their chances in this. We see a lot of sad faces, or at least those who hold it back, but you… you're different. What do you think you bring to the table over your fellow competitors?"

I gulp but glue the smile to my lips. The careers versus me, I stand no chance. I've never even thought about my confidence in actual fighting, not even yesterday when we trained. Is this the real image they get from me, that I'm one of the confident ones? I've always had a level of self-esteem others have struggled to find, but I'm not a violent person.

"Um..." my tongue wraps round the words awkwardly, a weird fuzzy feeling drying up my lips. I smack them together quietly and clear my throat. "Y-Yeah, yeah, I mean it's good to believe you can do it. If you think you're gonna die, well, you're gonna die aren't you?"

"Words of wisdom from our dear Graeden Peltz." He claps me on the back triumphantly and I revel in the applause. Though the subject is morbid, tainted with evil and corruption, the topic will never be avoided. I either face my fears, or die.

The other tributes have the choice of learning or remaining ignorant to what they have to do.

A smile saves sadness, but a knife saves a life. I have to choose between the two. Tirzah made her decision, I need to make mine.

* * *

**Alton Shelding, District Ten Male.**

* * *

Her feathers ruffle once more, golden bits of lace attached at each end. The pressure of today and the days to come has built up so much inside, torturing me, that I barely make a single noise when Raelyn hooks her arm into mine. Maybe if I could care more, I'd shrug her off, give her a stern talking to and let her know no matter what we can't be friends… because… well we can't, can we?

Over and over my mentor has repeated the words. _Don't trust anyone. _Yet I found an alliance and broke the one piece of advice he told me to maintain. Don't trust anyone. Trust kills just as much as any well-timed blade, he told me over and over that even Raelyn, in her time of need, would attack me if it meant her own skin.

Somehow as I look at her feathery dress, crafted and shaped against her curves yet as chicken-like as our chariot outfits, I can see she doesn't pose a threat. The boy on stage, Elijah, he does. The guy from Eleven, he does.

The careers are the biggest killers overall. I wouldn't be surprised if blood has already tainted their hands. Soon enough it will, it makes sense if they're used to murdering innocents before they do it for the fun of it in a real Arena.

_Since when did you care so much Alton? _I shake my head and glance down at the floor, polished and shining in the spotlight cast onto the stage. I've tried so hard each and everyday to just do what I knew would have to be done when I was reaped. Play it like I always have. Things never matter too much to me, my life in Ten gave me little to cling onto except the fact that it gave me a life to live.

Then it just went on. Day to day, over and over the endless cycle of doing nothing in hope that we'll escape the reaping. But then what? We work our hands raw to the bone, have families that then go off to face the same event we escaped from?

It's a cycle, that maybe, if I wasn't so scared, I'd be happy to see the end of now that I'm a tribute. But I'm a teenager and I know it, whether or not I try to deny it, that I'm terrified. I do… care.

"I don't want to die," I mumble, drawing my feet in invisible circles through the light. Raelyn's presence is still there, but her contact vanished seconds ago.

Kitty is off with her by some metal railing, chatting broadly and loudly. They don't care either, but they don't care in a way that's stupid. They don't care who hears them, what targets they paint for themselves, who sees and pays attention to them.

Davin's weak in the same way. Smiles have no home here in the Capitol, not on our road. Yet I can't say it, because if I don't want people to change me, I can't change them. I'm a hundred and one different things, but I'm no hypocrite.

I watch Raelyn speed forwards in a blur of yellow, skipping merrily past an enthused Elijah who swishes next to me. The Capitol laps up their eagerness, but what Caesar doesn't say is that most Victors, maybe all Victors, are the ones that didn't smile. They kept it real, they played the Game the way it was meant to be played.

Raelyn won't kill. I don't want to either, I shouldn't, I told my parents and sister that I was never coming home. Each day breaks down that twisted promise. Each day I want to fight more and more, and now I see a possibility where I will take the life of one of these tributes, maybe even Raelyn, who with all her smiles can't understand the real message behind the lives we all have. What I have to do boils down to who I can accept being. I'm unsure right now, all I have is Raelyn's interview, then my own to concentrate on. The killing doesn't start until tomorrow.

Sadly, her voice is as grating as it's always been. Soon enough, maybe even Caesar gets annoyed because the buzzer goes off, and Raelyn leaves just as happily as she arrived.

"Good luck Alton, try to smile!"

"Try to shut up," I grumble under my breath. Usually, I'm not so beaten and angry. I'm lazy, sure, that doesn't bother me. I never care or commit, but I still do my bit in the weirdest way to joke around. Morbid humour people have called it, but right now no joke makes its way up my throat and out my mouth. Only a bout of sharp breathing as my chest tightens the moment my name is announced.

Waiting has given my eyes the chance to settle with the light. Luckily when I walk, I don't trip or fall or faint in the burst of heat that wafts from the giant lights rooted into metal structures bolted in the ceiling. Caesar greets me with a handshake and I shake back, maybe not so enthusiastically as he does.

"Alton! How are you my boy?" Straight to it. No dawdling, that's the one thing I like about Caesar. If there is anything to like, it's this.

"Could be better," I shrug my shoulders, "could be worse."

"Typical teenagers huh?" Caesar flashes a wink in the direction of the camera, and the audience, as if they're timed for these reactions, explode in hoots of laughter and applause. I don't find it funny, nothing he ever says is ever perceived as funny in my eyes. Maybe the President forces these people to laugh, I've seen my stylist, but not everyone can be as imbecilic as she is, surely?

"Your friend Raelyn sure is lovely?-" Great, Raelyn. "-you two get along?"

I can almost see her bright eyes staring at the pair of us, either backstage or if she's made it to another television. We're not friends, but I couldn't… I couldn't hate someone just because they're annoying. I hate the careers for being the evil monsters they are. But I don't hate Raelyn.

"We're not two peas in a pod exactly, but we don't hate each other. She's… nice." Why the word is hard to get out, I don't know. I gulp down something that sticks in my throat and Caesar grins fondly back at me.

"Only nice, come on Alton, there must be more than that?"

I shrug my shoulders, uncomfortable, my legs urging to pick me up and carry me away. "She's nice, that's all I have to say."

Caesar prattles on about some of the other tributes, over and over saying names of people I don't want to, nor will, connect with. They know me by know, my neutral words, how I feel about them and everything else. Maybe Caesar gives up on me as well, in a second the buzzer dings out loudly, vibrating the chair, and I leave too quickly.

The audience laugh and clap behind me, but I don't wait for anything. The elevator doors have never looked so beautiful. I run to them, and up I go. As far away from hell as I can be.

* * *

**Cynder Duke, District Five Male. **

* * *

My knees rock forwards and backwards in time to the gentle pattering of rain. The sun has vanished behind thick set, heavy black clouds and the Capitol has finally calmed down. No one goes out in bad weather, the Capitol's materialism is for sun, heat and humidity. I relax with a smile into the cushions of the armchair and close my eyes, letting the world slink into darkness, my own dreams buzzing alive…

"Cynder." I jerk upwards, biting back a shriek in the direction of Taryn. Her face contorts with guilt, though the moment I shroud my displeasure with a quick grin, she settles and laughs gently.

"Sorry for waking you." I brush it off and prop my elbows behind me, pushing upwards so I'm leaning towards her. "Kinnard wanted one final meeting."

"What Kinnard wants, Kinnard gets," I snicker, rolling my eyes and standing up. My knees buckle, a stagger in my step. Taryn helps, providing her shoulder to lean on and we walk together to the table. It's been a long, long day. Prep, then conversation, then more prep with stylists and escort, then when I was assessed finally, more prep because there always constantly seemed to be something out of place.

By the time the interviews began, more specifically my one, the world had pissed me off. All along I had it planned that I'd mask my intelligence with humour, controlling statistics or scientific facts about chances with a gentle joke. It worked because it always has.

Ward sees me, a bubbly sprightly young man who opted to ally with him over Celene. He knows I have my strategies, but he doesn't know the true extent. Caesar and the whole of Panem, they saw a ditz like Davin, Raelyn and all the others that would rather live their last moments in happiness than plan how to actually procure a longer life.

And then Taryn, Kinnard and Celene. I spend most of my time with them, each of them providing difficulties, each providing another incentive for why I can't break down. Kinnard's depressed, constantly and always. His emotions drain the life from anything, yet he won with his mind, Kinnard would know a fellow intellect if he saw one.

Taryn, she's optimistic. Her and Celene are two branches from the same tree. Celene's a little girl submerged in a world out to get her, and she's oblivious to it, turning to creativity rather than reason. Anything I say to her would be perceived as intelligent. I left her because I knew she would lead to death, her alliance is doomed because she won't know how to protect them. They're all just fatalities waiting to happen…

I snap out of my haze and my eyes hover over the dining table. For one last night, we're collected together in our misery. Celene's face is twisted with fear, eyes wide. My own heart palpitates, nothing but a throbbing in my chest that hurts everything. Maybe we are all smiles – with the exception of Kinnard – but the atmosphere tonight destroys any semblance of joy.

Taryn grips onto my hand, gently squeezing it between her fingers. I nod warmly, fear thickening my throat, and slump down in a chair next to Celene.

"You did good today Cynder, they all loved you." Celene's voice cuts my heart. Maybe I only see her killing those around her, maybe she is destined to die, but she's… she's Celene. Despite breaking her initial hopes, she never insulted me or called me out. The night after I severed our alliance, she smiled and laughed with me. We acted like friends when there was no hope for a friendship.

Tonight, we're united in our future.

"Caesar couldn't get enough of you Celene." I miss out the part that she won't understand. A ditzy, oblivious girl, blessed with beauty is a target for anyone. The Capitol is a vile place. Celene doesn't understand how precious she would be to some people. "No one could ever dislike you."

Taryn stares between the pair of us. Kinnard, his brow furrowed and stuck staring at the window behind my head. Silent as a funeral.

"The pair of you did splendidly. I couldn't be more pleased." Her voice is laced with sadness. Taryn can hide behind a smile, lock her true meaning behind words that are smothered with lies. But nothing she does can hide what I really see there, lurking in her tone. She sees Celene, dead. Me, dead. Her hopes, dead.

This past decade, District Five has been lucky. Two victors within a gap not too large to abandon the chance of having another Victor. I can try and distance myself from their sorrow, play it smart like the Cynder I've hidden would, manipulate the manipulable. But right now in our joint despair, I can't do anything but cling to my fear. Celene stares at me with a watery smile. Maybe she's not as deluded as I imagined, maybe she understands that tomorrow… tomorrow she might be dead.

"Kinnard, you wanted to see us."

He peeks away from the rain and twitches. "I did." He says, shrugging his shoulders.

"And…?" Not even I can joke about Kinnard right now. For all his flaws, he's helped. He told me about how to play it with Ward, even as oblivious as I acted, he still tuned into helping my survival. His words are golden, as much as what Taryn has to say might comfort Celene.

"He does this every year." Taryn mumbles, sliding a hand into Kinnard's. He shifts awkwardly but breaks no contact, remaining rigid in his chair, fingers intertwined with his fellow Victor's.

"I just… wanted to say. Y-You two," his face contorts with… something. His eyes break, a tear dangling on his eyelash. "I just wanted to you say that you two, you two deserve so much better. Nothing can make up for what you're about to go through. We'll miss you," I notice the gentle squeeze of his fingers, sharing a moment with Taryn. "We'll both miss you."

Celene steps from the table to embrace the pair of them. I will my legs to move but they glue to the chair, rooting me in place.

They'll miss us. They see no hope, no spark of a Victor. Was it wise for me to play it dumb? For all the plans I had, the way Ward and I connected and played it all, him observing, me fighting… I forgot the real point of it all. Strength. Valour. The Games are about the strongest of the strong coming out on top, the Capitol loves a Victor who encompasses their ideals.

And I dumped them all so I could, what? Rebel against my parents?

I look down at the floor, tucking my hands into the folds of my shirt. Maybe it's Celene who will make it far. Maybe she'll make it far because she never hid behind a wall, she never played anyone for a fool. She was herself. Individualism is better than what I've been doing.

Tomorrow I could die… tomorrow I _will _die. All because, no matter what I say, I never truly understood anything.

* * *

**Sorry for the late update, pretty much for the same reasons as the last chapter. I've spoken to a few people and they've apologised for not reviewing because they're pretty behind, if anyone is not reviewing cause they've got a lot to catch up on, y'all can just start with this chapter and forget about ones you have missed. Honestly, I have no problem with that since it'll be easier for those of you behind :)**

**Although we've nearly reached 24 tributes for the new SYOT published on my profile, we're still happy to accept tributes of either gender so don't be put off at all. I hope some of you will consider sending in a tribute.**

**Those who have noted the problem with the blog, it's because I deleted that one and made a new one. I didn't like the layout, it was too big and messy so the link to the more simple blog is on my profile :)**

_**Favourite out of these six and why?**_

_**Which alliance do you see being the first to die out?**_

_**Which career do you see being the first to fall?**_

**Only one more Capitol chapter left, then the Games begin!**


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